


Flight of the Crescent Rose

by LastCorsair



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space Opera, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastCorsair/pseuds/LastCorsair
Summary: Nine years ago, Ruby Rose and Princess Weiss Schnee met and fell in love. Five years ago, their love was torn apart, Ruby's family disgraced and exiled, Weiss imprisoned by her father. Now they are reunited in exile, and the Empire itself will tremble. (Space Pirates AU, with White Rose and Bumblebee)
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose/Weiss Schnee
Comments: 22
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

Aboard the Imperial yacht _Atlas Ascendant_ , its sole passenger wept in the darkness of her cabin. She was to be wed in a week, to a man she utterly despised. As the Emperor's second daughter, she had been raised to expect to be married off to someone of prominence, to secure the Empire. A young nobleman perhaps, one new to his title but loyal to the throne. Or maybe the heir to one of the greater houses of the empire. If she was fortunate, the man she was promised too would allow her to live her own life so long as she bore him proper heirs.

None of that was to be. Instead, her father was marrying her off to the first son of a lesser house of little note, a boy (she would not dignify him by calling him a man) who had promised her father that he would make a 'proper wife of her, no matter what it takes.' She knew that some of her habits were... unusual, and that some felt that her independent streak was inappropriate for a woman. Bah. She was her own person, and vowed to stay so. If she was forced to marry this fool, she would be dead by her own hand before she laid with him.

There was only one slim hope for her salvation. Even as she wept, she prayed to every god she could name it would arrive in time.

On the yacht's bridge, the captain drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. The princess had certainly been a handful this trip. But who could blame her? Even though the captain couldn't publicly speak against the emperor, in the privacy of his own soul, he agreed with what she'd said about the marriage. The rank of her husband-to-be's house was an insult to a princess of the imperial line. And that completely ignored the character of the man himself. (The less said about that the better.) Still, the captain and his crew had done their best to show her what kindnesses they could during the journey.

He glanced at the navigational plot. In less than an hour, they'd approach the edge of the Beacon system. There, they'd recharge their hyperdrive for the next leg of the journey. He made a note to check on what amenities he could secure for the princess from the charging station. He turned towards his first officer, but before he could speak, the ship shook like a rat in a terrier's jaws and the lights died as main power failed.

"Report!" the captain yelled as he picked himself off the deck, raising a hand to feel blood on his lip.

"Main power's off-line. Hyperdrive is down. I think... we hit a field of hyperspace mines."

The captain's eyes went wide. Hyperspace mines were rarely used outside of heavily fortified worlds. The area each one covered was vast compared to a ship, but minuscule compared to space itself. For them to have hit a mine, those planting them had to know exactly where they were going to be. And that meant... "The princess! They're after the princess!

* * *

Yang Xiao Long, known as the Golden Dragon tapped her armored boot as the pirate cruiser _Crescent Rose_ approached the yacht. They were getting paid a hefty sum for this job, and what a prize it was! Kidnapping an imperial princess on the eve of her wedding day! It'd be a long time before any of their crew had to buy their own drinks that was sure.

Next to her, her life-partner Blake Belladonna sighed. "Must you tap your boot? It echoes in here."

"I'm just anxious, love. Our task carries great risk and great reward at the same time. It's the sort of thing that can make your legend, or doom you to infamy."

"Can the crap. You've been reading the Captain's trashy space opera again."

"Yeah, but it's so bad it's awesome!" Yang spread her arms wide, almost decking one of the boarding party with an armored gauntlet. "Sorry, I was just thinking this job could really put us on the map, you know? Open up opportunities, that sort of thing."

"If we pull it off." Blake wasn't sure. The info packet for this job was too good, too complete. It made her edgy.

In front of them, there was a clang and a hiss. "Here we go," Yang grinned as she brought her pulse cannon to the ready. "Remember, let me take the lead. This new heavy armor is going to earn its keep. And stun loads only until I say otherwise. These guys are just doing their jobs."

Even as the hatch slid open, she could hear pulse fire from the yacht's defenders impacting on it. Yang sighed. No fire discipline. They should have waited until they had a target. She started firing the pulse cannon as soon as she had a clear shot, sweeping it back and forth like a gardener watering the roses. Advancing behind the cannon's fire, Yang could see a heavy barricade further down the corridor. "Grenades!" she spat, working the launcher mounted under the cannon. So much for a challenge. For guys guarding a member of the royal family, these guys were soft. She'd seen cruise liners with better security.

On the bridge the captain moaned. They'd expected normal everyday pirate firepower, Where did they get a set of Imperial assault armor. Okay, not the latest ones the army was using now, but still-!

Reaching the princess's suite, Golden Dragon finally found a challenge. These guys were Royal Guard. Heavy body armor, not powered armor like she was wearing, but you took what you could get. Although... "Forceblades? What moron uses forceblades on a ship! Sheesh!" Yang blocked one with a shielded gauntlet, then grabbed its wielder by the arm and tossed him back into the rest. "Fools! Know that you face the Golden Dragon! I have never lost a battle and never shall! My lady commands me bring your charge to her; impede my path at your peril!"

Behind them, Blake rolled her eyes and laid into the Guardsmen with stun batons. Yang had their attention so fixated on her that it was trivial to work her way around behind them and take them out. "I will say this, your new toy is an attention getter."

"Think I'll leave it behind next time. Makes things too easy. Well, except the forceblades, and only idiots use them on ships. Let's get this princess and blow."

Kicking open the hatch of the princess's cabin in, Yang found her standing there defiant, a rapier in hand. "I am a princess of the Imperial House, how dare you trespass here! I should have you shot."

Yang shook her head and laughed. "Save it, Princess. Our contract says we have to deliver you unharmed, that doesn't mean conscious. And exactly what do you think you're going to do to me with that rapier in this armor. Blake, cuff her and let's scram."

The princess looked back and forth between the two of them. "You swear I won't be harmed? You'll take me and leave the crew unharmed?"

Blake paused. "Our contract specifies alive and unharmed. Some of your crew have already been hurt, but per our contract, we've done our best to do as little harm as possible."

The rapier clattered to the deck. "Fine. I am yours, then."

As the boarding hatch closed behind her, Yang called the captain on the intercom. "The package is aboard. Everyone's safe, minimal casualties on their end."

"Excellent. Take the princess to a cell and keep an eye on her until we're in hyperspace, then bring her to my cabin." Yang could hear her sister giving the orders to undock from the yacht and clear for maneuvering. "And hurry," Ruby snapped, "this place is about to get really hot."

"Is that your captain? She sounds young," the princess asked.

"She inherited the ship, so she's captain Don't let her age fool you; she's a natural at this." Yang walked the princess to her cell, then took up a guard position outside the door. "So, princess, who wants you the most these days? We're getting a pretty Lien for you."

"Any number of people." The jump alarm sounded, and the ship shook as it crossed the barrier into hyperspace. Yang could hear the princess vomiting in the cell. "Sorry. Two jumps in rapid succession."

"Don't worry about it. Sit tight and I'll see if I can find some mouthwash; The captain probably wouldn't appreciate vomit breath."

"No, I suppose not." Yang's wrist comm chirped, and she glanced at the message. "Time to go, princess. Captain wants a word."

When they reached Ruby's cabin, she was sitting behind her desk, wearing her full armor, chin propped up on her clasped hands, face hidden behind an _outcast_ 's mask. "Princess Weiss Schnee, Second Princes of the Empire, Heir Secundus to the Imperial Throne, betrothed of Cardin Winchester, more other titles than I care to name. I never figured the likes of you would ever stand here."

"So where are we dropping our little bundle of Imperial joy?" Blake asked.

"Let's take a look at the contract." Ruby tapped a control on the desk, never taking her eyes off Weiss as the contract appeared on the wall screen.

Yang caught it first. "Wait, it says she's the contracting party? _She_ hired us? Who pays for their own kidnapping?"

"Someone who wants a rescue to look like a kidnapping," Blake murmured.

Ruby nodded. "Weiss and I... knew each other in school, before Yang and I became _ronin._ When her father imposed the betrothal on her, she contacted me to see if I could get her out. I don't think she was expecting this."

Weiss shook her head. "Nope, you caught me completely by surprise. As always."

"You could have told us! Me at least," Yang growled.

"You're not that good an actress, sis. It had to look like a kidnapping for the cameras. Part of the idea is that the Emperor will be too busy trying to figure out who took her to look for who has her." Ruby looked at Weiss and sighed. "So where are we dropping you? I notice the delivery instructions are encrypted."

Weiss spoke the decryption code and Yang read the instructions out loud. "The princess is to be delivered alive and unharmed to her fiancee, Ruby Rose, _ourcast_ , captain of the _Crescent Rose_. What the flaming hell, Ruby?"

Ruby paled. She thought Weiss had forgotten about that.


	2. Chapter 2

Ruby just kept re-reading the decrypted delivery instructions over and over again. She couldn't believe Weiss had done this. She drew a deep breath, centering herself as her Aura masters had taught her at combat school. "Yang, Blake, out. I need to talk to Weiss alone."

Outside, Blake turned towards their quarters, only to stop as Yang took up position on the bulkhead opposite the Captain's quarters. She took the spot next to Yang and pulled out her vaporizer. "So I take it the Captain and this princess have a history?"

"That's putting it mildly. They were at combat school together for a few years and fell for each other almost immediately. Right after graduation, Weiss proposed to Ruby, and my baby sis accepted. Weiss's dad, the Emperor, was less than thrilled. Weiss... got called home to explain herself. Didn't take Ruby with her. We didn't hear from her after that. Six months later, the treason charges against our dad surfaced, and our family was declared _outcast_. That's how Ruby and I ended up _outcast_. Weiss broke Ruby's heart, and Ruby blames her for what happened to our family."

Blake puffed on her vape. "Shit. And here we are."

"Yep. I'm sticking around to make sure they both walk out of there."

_Meanwhile, in the captain's cabin..._

"What in the hell were you thinking? Did you think you could just show up on my doorstep and everything would be okay? That we'd just go back to the way things were? _DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER DID TO MY FAMILY BECAUSE OF US? **"**_

Weiss shivered. It was kind of unnerving arguing with someone wearing a mask. "Do you know what he did to _me_? When I got on that shuttle, they drugged me. I woke up at a monastery full of monks that had taken a vow of silence. If I spoke or sang, or even so much as cried out in pain, I was punished, beaten. It was a _year_ before I heard a human voice besides my own. And that was a flunky sent to ask if I was ready to assume my 'proper place' as an obedient daughter of the Imperial house. I held out like that for _five years._ Finally, I relented, lied and said I'd do as he asked. As soon as I could, I tried to find out what had happened to you. I was punished. I tried again, indirectly. I was punished again. It took months, but I found out what had happened to you and your family. By that time, he'd sprung this betrothal to Cardin Winchester on me. So I reached out to you, the one person I hoped I could trust."

Ruby sat down on the desk, head tilted to regard Weiss. "So what now? What's the next step in your plan?"

"I-I don't know. I just wanted _away_ so badly I didn't think past that. Maybe... can I stay here with you, for a while? There' got to be somewhere I can hide."

Ruby shook her head. "No can do. Having an Imperial princess on the ship puts us all at risk. We'd be flying around with a great big target on the hull. You can't stay."

"Th-Then I'll declare myself _outcast_ , like you and Yang. He can't touch me then, right?"

"Weiss.. you don't know what you're saying. The outcast's life is hard. You have to fight for things everyday people take for granted. And you still need to find somewhere to go. There's no safety net for us, no retainers at our beck and call, nothing. Just what we can take and hold. And then there's your father. Having his daughter declare herself _outcast_ is an insult he won't be able to stand. Yes, legally he can't touch you directly, but there are indirect ways to get at you. One of the reasons Yang and I ended up as Corsairs was to make us harder to find."

"Then I'll become a Corsair too, something, anything, I don't care. I just want away from him, to live my own life."

"You'll have to earn your place if you want to stay here. If I just give you one, I'll lose the respect of my crew, and I can't risk that. Yang, Blake, they're all the family I have left now."

Weiss nodded. "R-Right. How do I do that?"

"Follow me." Ruby stepped out of the cabin, regarded Yang and Blake with a cold glare from beneath her mask, then marched down the corridor. Weiss followed, confused. What did Ruby have in mind? She knew the years since they'd last met had been hard on Ruby, but this was more than she'd expected. Was there anything left of the cheerful, optimistic girl she'd once known? She was beginning to doubt that. Maybe staying here wasn't the best idea after all.

Ruby led her to a training room where several members of the crew were training. "I need the room. Ironwood, you stay," Ruby announced in a calm, clear voice that held the tone of command. Without a word, the crew all cleared out except for Blake, Yang, and one crewman Weiss didn't know, an older man with extensive cybernetics. "You too," Ruby ordered, looking at Blake and Yang.

"No can do, sis. I'm making sure you don't do something you'll regret."

"Fine, but you know what I have to do." Ruby turned towards Weiss. "You say you want to declare yourself an _outcast_ , become a Corsair, but you have no real idea what that means. No-one does when they take up the life; it has to be learned the hard way. You have to be willing to fight, to kill if need be, to follow orders without question or hesitation, because not just your life is on the line, but the lives of others." Ruby drew her blade and held it out for Weiss to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"It-It's a Corsair's blade, a variable-configuration weapon."

"Correct, as far as that goes. Do you know why Corsairs use them, instead of blasters, or forceblades?"

"No."

"You admit your ignorance, good. We use them because they don't put holes in the hull, or vital equipment, like, say life support." Ruby twitched her wrist just so, and the blade went from being a short, stabbing weapon to a greatsword, making Weiss take a step back. "With this, I can fight up close or at greater range. In its compact form, it's easily carried at the side or on the back without snagging on things. It's got a built-in compact pulse weapon as well. Not as powerful as a rifle, perhaps, but there if you need it. Now, defend yourself!" With that, Ruby advanced on Weiss, swinging her blade.

Weiss dodged out of the way. "I don't have a weapon! My hands are bound!"

"Do you think the world cares? In a fight for your life, either or both of those may apply!" Ruby swung at Weiss again, making her tumble backward awkwardly. Ruby pressed the attack, making Weiss back up.

"Ruby, why are you doing this?"

"Does the universe explain itself every time something happens to you? Does it care if you're not ready for what it throws at you?"

Weiss had had enough. She turned and ran, pulling a sword from a rack on the bulkhead and bringing it up to block Ruby's strike.

"Good, you're fighting back. Now I can stop going easy on you." The two of them fought back and forth across the room for almost two hours, Ruby criticising Weiss's form, technique, footing, anything and everything, taunting and teasing her mercilessly. Finally, Ruby worked around behind Weiss and caught her a backhand blow that sent Weiss sprawling, her weapon flying from her hand. Weiss rolled onto her back, to find Ruby standing over her, the tip of her blade under Weiss's chin. "Yield," Ruby snarled.

"Kill me, then. I've got nothing left to lose," Weiss spat at her.

"Enough," Ironwood rumbled from his post by the bulkhead. "She passes." Yang nodded agreement.

Ruby positively squealed with delight as she stowed her blade. "Sorry about that, Weiss. The first test is kinda rough."

"Actually, I think you went a little easy on her," Yang laughed. "No blaster shots?"

"Figured since her hands were bound, it balanced."

"Indeed," Ironwood grinned and turned towards Weiss. "Weiss Schnee died today. Who is my new sister?"

"I don't understand," Weiss muttered as she stood up. "This was some sort of test? And I lost the fight, but I passed the test?"

"See, it's not about winning the fight," Yang said as she pulled off her mask. "It's about what it takes to make you stop fighting. Mine was rough, three guys Ironwood's size. Ruby... well, they sat me, Ruby and the guy judging down at a table like it was a tea party. Big plate of chocolate chip cookies even. When the judge gave the signal, I had to attack Ruby. Not hurt her, just make it look serious."

"I grabbed a weapon and used my Semblance to get the drop on her," Ruby chortled as she pulled off her own mask. "The judge laughed and proceeded to kick my ass around the room harder than I did you. But what Ironwood's asking is, what's your new name? We can't call you Weiss in public anymore, once you go _outcast_."

"What's the tradition?"

"Two words, first one's an adjective, second one's a noun. Like I'm Golden Dragon," Yang jerked a thumb at herself, "and sis is Crimson Blossom. Ironwood's full name is Stalwart Ironwood. Even if you know it, don't use another _outcast's_ birth name in public. When it's just _outcast_ , you can use it in private if you're on familiar terms with them. Kind of like most of the time you use a nobleman's title or rank, but if you're buds and it's just the two of you, you can call them by name."

Weiss considered for a moment, then, "White Lily."

"Bad idea" Ruby shook her head. "There's already an _outcast_ using the name White Lilly, and she's kind of famous. You don't want to get confused with her if you can help it. Or have her thinking you're trying to impersonate her; I hear she's got kind of a temper."

"White... Heron?" Weiss offered.

Ironwood nodded. "White Heron you are, then. You'll need a mask, though."

"M-Mask? I noticed the Ruby-sorry, _Crimson Blossom, Golden Dragon,_ and you wear full-face masks but do I have to wear one too?"

He nodded. "Again, an element of the polite fiction that you're a different person than Weiss Schnee. If you appear in public without a mask, either the full-face ones we wear in combat or the half-masks we wear to social occasions, you can legally be treated as Weiss Schnee. With the mask on, you're White Heron, an _outcast_ of no particular note yet."

"Actually..." Crimson Blossom produced a half-mask with a magician's flourish. "May I?" Weiss nodded, and Blossom reached up to place it on Weiss's face. "There. Don't regard it as a gift, but a burden. It's one of my spares until we can get you your own. You'll need several."

Weiss-no, she had to think of herself as White Heron now-blushed. The mask was oddly comfortable and didn't obstruct her vision much at all. "I accept graciously. Now can someone get these manacles off me? After all, White Heron hasn't done anything wrong, have I?"

Blossom giggled and undid the cuffs. "Now, until you find your feet, I'll arrange an escort at all times. I can't babysit you; I've got a ship to run after all. First thing is lunch, followed introducing you around. People are going to be offering second-hand gear to you for a bit; accept it, it's tradition. Tomorrow you start serious training. You are way out of shape! It was tough going hard enough on you to challenge you without overwhelming you."

"Well excuse me," Heron snapped. "I was stuck in a monastery for years. The only thing I could practice with was a pole, and that only when I wasn't being watched! I sure as hell didn't get any practice once I was brought back to the palace. I was watched too much."

"Don't worry about it;" Dragon laughed. "At least you started out knowing how to fight. Some nobles that try to go _outcast_ , they don't know anything about fighting and come off all arrogant and expecting everyone to obey them. They don't last long."

"But that's later. Now, we welcome our new sister. Pass the word, Dragon, to lay in a proper First Feast for White Heron. I'll show her around a bit to give you time."

As they wandered the ship, Heron was amazed at how welcoming the crew was to her, and how deferential to Blossom. When they found themselves alone for a moment, she said, "Ruby, I really am sorry. You lost everything because of me. I was foolish and selfish, and had no idea my father would react like that."

Blossom looked around for a moment, then sighed and pulled her mask off again. "I don't blame you, Weiss, I blame your father. I was just... really angry that I didn't think you'd tried to stop it."

"Do you honestly think I wouldn't have tried if I'd been able?"

"No."

Heron pulled off her own mask. "I... I still love you. Can we..." Weiss bit her lip. "Can we start over? Rebuild what we had?"

"Maybe. But it'll take time. I can't just get over the past six years overnight."

Wiess nodded and put her mask back on, becoming White Heron once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Weiss laid on her bunk, staring at the bunk above hers, the mask Ruby-no, _Crimson Blossom damnit_ , have to remember that-had loaned her at her side. What an exhausting day. She'd started out sobbing over her engagement to Cardin Winchester, been 'kidnapped' by pirates, reunited with her lost love, rejected by said lost love, had her ass kicked by again that lost love, declared herself _an outcast_ , and been paraded around a pirate cruiser for hours like an exotic animal on display.

One of the harder things for her to get used to was the number of Faunus in the crew. She'd barely met any before now; by Imperial law, they were forbidden in the palace where she'd grown up. And here they were everywhere, making up a large portion of the crew. Dragon was even some sort of married to one of them Blossom had told her. _Here and now, they are people, just like everyone else,_ she reminded herself. One more thing to remember, like her new name, and Yang and Ruby's.

She sighed and sat up, remembering this time to duck her head so she didn't hit it on the bunk above hers. The wall opposite her held a large screen and a desk/chair combo that folded up against the wall when not in use. On the back wall were storage lockers; Weiss had claimed one for her own, but the other was empty. Rounding out the room-no, _compartment_ , naval terminology-was the wall- _bulkhead_ -that held the three bunks, each with more storage underneath, and the hatch. Weiss smiled for a moment, pleased that at least in her own mind, she'd used the right term. It was definitely the smallest space she'd ever called home; if she stretched out her arms, her fingertips would brush both the wallscreen and the bunks. The bathroom in her suite at the palace had been larger.

And yet, it felt strangely welcoming, like a home she'd never known until she reached it, for it contained two things more precious than air: freedom and hope. Freedom from her father's tyranny, and hope for a new life, for once again winning the heart of the woman she loved.

The hatch chime sounded, and Weiss stood, fixing her mask in place before opening the hatch. Blossom had told her that while most people would be forgiving if she forgot her mask sometimes at first, it was kind of like walking naked down a city street. Not against the rules, strictly speaking, but very impolite.

Outside the hatch stood Dragon, this time wearing casual clothes and a half-mask. "Ready to go?"

Heron nodded. "I suppose so. Am I dressed appropriately?" she asked, gesturing at the jumpsuit she wore. Her 'princess clothes' were stashed away, not to be seen again for a long time, if ever.

"You're fine; this is your party, after all. And you wore your mask, which is the important part." Dragon started to lead the way, but something caught Heron's eye and she laid a hand on Dragon's arm. "What is it?"

"Your arm." Heron had noticed that Dragon's right arm was a prosthetic. "What happened to it?"

"That's... kinda complicated." An angry tone crept into Dragon's voice as she laid her left hand on top of the prosthetic's wrist. "I... don't like to talk about it. But hey, me losing my arm finally pushed Blake and I into doing something about how we felt about each other, so not completely a bad thing, right?"

"One more thing my father's responsible for, "Heron muttered darkly.

"No, this was me doing something stupid, trying to play hero. But I lived, and I got the girl, so bonus!"

"Oh, that's right, you and Blake are lifepartners, someone called it?" Heron winced at how badly that sounded, then fished around for something else to say. "So... this 'First Feast,' what is it? R-Blossom was kind of vague about that."

"Symbolically, it's kinda complicated, but in practice, it's rather simple. Think of it as a combination of a wake for Weiss Schnee, and a welcome aboard party for White Heron." Dragon stopped and looked around for a moment to make sure they were alone. "I'll warn you, part of the tradition is to get the new person shitfaced drunk or laid, preferably both. So if you don't want company tonight, best to make that clear right off the bat."

"Thanks; I'll try to make it as clear as I can." Heron shook her head. _The only person I want in my bed has no interest in being there._

"Yeah. Listen, before, you have no idea how happy you made my sister. I'm talking seriously rom-com silly levels of happiness. She was giddy for days after your first kiss, and when you proposed to her...! It broke her heart when you disappeared, and what happened to our dad on top of that... She spent _years_ hating you, plotting her revenge. I thought taking the job for kidnapping you was her finally getting even. She frightened me a little. And it sure as hell threw me for a loop when I found out you'd paid to have _yourself_ kidnapped, and she knew it! Listen, what I'm trying to say is... things between you and her are messy and complicated, and it's going to take time to sort out, one way or the other. Give her that time."

"I'll try. " Heron's voice took on a wistful tone. "She's worth the wait. And I know she's been hurt, a lot. I feel like I'm partly to blame for that.I just hope I can make it up to her."

Dragon shook her head, sighing. "She told me what your dad did to you. It's not right, what he's done to you, or to us. I mean, arranged marriages are a thing among the nobility, but it's still supposed to be our choice in the end, right? Come on, we've got a party to crash. No sense standing here moping."

When they reached the compartment where the party was being held, Ironwood was standing outside. He laid a hand on Heron's shoulder. "Remember, you're White Heron now. The person you were is gone. Today is a new day. Celebrate that, don't mourn your old life."

"There's not much of my old life worth saving. Everything I want is here."

"Alright. Let's go." Inside, the compartment was full of people sitting on cushions around low tables, talking and laughing and drinking. Ironwood cleared his throat and the room quieted into an expectant silence. "Everyone, this is our new sister, White Heron. She's left everything behind to become one of us. So let's do our best to make her feel welcome."

The room erupted in a welcoming cheer; someone pressed a drink into Heron's hand and she took a gulp without thinking about it, coughing from the alcohol laughed and Dragon led her over to a table where Blake and a blonde-haired man were sitting. "Alright, you've already met my lifepartner Blake. This here's Sun Wukong, crazy weirdo, alleged comedian, and one of our arms instructors. He's going to be torturing you for the next few days, starting tomorrow."

"Nice to meet you" Sun grinned and picked up his glass off the table with his tail. Heron tilted her head, then shook it.

"Problem?" Blake muttered as she sipped her own drink.

"No, I've just never been around this many Faunus. Just one more thing to get used to." Heron took a small sip of her drink.

"I suppose not, growing up in the pal-"

"Blake!" Dragon hissed, glaring at her partner. "Remember, _she's not that person anymore_. That's the way it works."

"It's okay." Everyone looked at Heron as she spoke quietly. "I may not be that person anymore, but that doesn't change how people saw her. And even so, I have to earn everyone's respect." Heron turned to look at Blake. "Did... did Dragon tell you what happened to Weiss? What her father did when she told him about her engagement?"

"She said it was bad, almost as bad as... other things, but I had to ask you."

"Later, then. I don't want to spoil the party." Heron turned towards Sun. "So, you're a weapons instructor? What kind of weapons?"

"Some of everything. Close combat, small arms, crew-served weapons, pretty much anything that's not mounted on the ship. What's your jam? What kind of training have you had?"

"Four years of combat training at... somewhere I shouldn't mention. Aura training too. Rapier was my weapon of choice, and I'm an excellent shot."

"Excellent by most people's standards is decent by mine. And a Corsair's blade is no rapier; you'll have to adjust. First thing tomorrow, assessment. Then I put you through hell. No room for slackers here."

Heron nodded and started to reply, then something caught her eye. She rose and walked across the room, staring slackjawed at the thing that had caught her attention. Along the far bulkhead from the hatch, there was a shrine to the departed like you'd see at a funeral when there wasn't a body. Staring back at her was her own face, in full court garb. Dragon laid a hand on Heron's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it, it's part of the ritual of it all. Your old life is dead, okay?"

"That's not it." Heron shook her head. "Did I... did _she_ look like that to everyone? Is that how everyone saw her?"

"Pretty much. Remember, to most people, she was just a face on a screen, staring blankly ahead at one court function or another. I know better, but that's because I met her, got to know her. They'll get to know you too.'

"Well, _she_ is gone and _I_ need a drink." Heron spun around and sat back down at their table, taking a big gulp of her drink and swallowing it before it could make her cough. "So, Dragon, Blake, how did the two of you meet? I'm kind of curious."

"I used to be a pirate," Blake grinned. "White Fang clan."

Heron frowned. "I see."

"Ex-pirate, okay? The short version is, I got caught up in a job Blossom and Dragon were doing. Dragon and I ended up in a derelict shuttle for two weeks with not much to do but talk. Somewhere along the line, she convinced me that being a Corsair sounded better than being a pirate. The rest is history."

"Don't you mean _her_ story?" Heron hiccuped. "Now what's the difference between Corsairs and pirates? I'm confused."

"The difference between shearing a sheep and slaughtering it." Everyone looked up to see Crimson Blossom standing there, wearing a half-mask and a red-and-black dress. Dragon's jaw gaped. Her sister _never_ came to First Feasts, and she could barely remember the last time Blossom had worn anything but her armor or uniform. Heron felt her heart stop for a moment. Right now, Blossom looked so much like the Ruby she'd once known. Then Blossom turned her face towards Heron, and with the mask on, it was like looking at a stranger. Heron shivered.

Blossom sat next to Heron and continued, sipping her drink. "See, Corsairs started out as just another pirate clan, made up of _outcasts_. But those founding members just couldn't help themselves. They kept trying to help people. So they worked up a code of honor and stuck with it. For example, we charge passage fees from ships, and protection money from planets, but in return, they know that if they get in trouble, pirates, accidents, whatever, we'll help if we can. The corsairs aren't as big or powerful as the navy, but out here, small, fast ships are more effective than battlewagons. Effectively, we're a combination of a local militia, space patrol, and, sometimes, mercenaries. The noble houses generally prefer working with Corsairs over pirate clans because they know we have a code of honor, and we're more professional than the pirates. Less chance of us doing something embarrassing or stupid." Blossom gave Heron a wry grin."Probably something you should have asked before you signed up."

"Let's just say the Corsair's life came... highly recommended, even if I didn't know much about it." Heron shook herself. Having Blossom this close to her, she could feel her heart racing a little, like stepping on the accelerator in a groundcar. Now was not the time, though. Heron stood, holding out her glass. "To new beginnings!" she yelled, downing the rest of her drink.

"New beginnings!" the room chorused. Someone else called out "To White Heron!" to much cheering and laughter, after which Heron tried to sit down but ended up falling on her butt.

Blake laughed. "I think you'd better slow down there, the night's still young."

"Nonsense. For the first time in over _five years_ , I feel happy. I'm surrounded by friends, and I have a fresh start on life. I intend to celebrate. I intend to eat, drink, and be merry." Heron laughed as she sat up. "Fooood. I'm starved, what's there to eat?" Sun chuckled and went to retrieve munchies for the table, making sure to get something resembling real food for Heron.

The party continued well into the ship's night. Later, Heron would remember most of it as a series of moments. Doing shots with Dragon (bad idea). Karaoke with Sun Wukong. Dancing with random people she didn't know. Fighting with someone. Eventually, the only ones still with her were Blossom and Dragon. "Wan' party," Heron muttered from where she was face-down on the table.

Blossom sighed. "I think it's time we put the new recruit to bed, alone, in her own bed. Come on, up you go." She helped Heron to stand, supporting her on one shoulder.

"Want some help with her?" Dragon asked, cautiously.

"Nah, she's light. Always has been." Blossom turned towards the hatch, only to be stopped by Dragon's voice.

"Are you going to be okay, with her being here?"

"I hope so.." Blossom looked over her shoulder at her sister. "I was sorta hoping she wouldn't pass the test, but I didn't trust myself to judge, so that's why I snagged Ironwood. I guess we'll just have to take things one day at a time."

* * *

The next morning, Dragon and Blossom sat on the couch in Blossom's quarters. "So, sis, why am I here so early? And why is there popcorn?"

"I told Sun to let me know when he was going to get Heron up for training, that I was going to watch on the security cameras, but not interfere. Thought you might enjoy watching too."

"That doesn't explain the popcorn."

"Just watch." On the screen, Sun Wukong was sauntering up to Heron's quarters. He hit the door chime and sat there, waiting.

Heron blearily pried an eye open. Her head was throbbing. How much had she had to drink last night? More than she could remember drinking ever. And what was that horrid noise? It came again, thundering in her head. Oh, the door chime. Heron sat up with a moan as the chime sounded again. Gah. She was going to have to chance standing up if only to tell whoever it was to go to hell of their choice so she could go back to bed.

Sun smiled as the hatch to Heron's quarters slid open. "Good morning, princess! Time for train-" WHAM! He stumbled backward a step from what looked like a textbook right cross.

"Did she just deck Sun? Oooh, she's gonna pay for that," Dragon laughed as her hand dipped into the popcorn bowl.

"Now you know why I have popcorn."

"Yeah, this is gonna be good."

Sun sighed and pulled his staff from behind his back, unfolding it to its full length and banging on the hatch. "Come on, princess, it's time get up. This isn't that palace you grew up in, where you can sleep until noon and laze about all day. Around here, when you've got to be up, you've got to be up."

The hatch slid open again, and this time Heron stood there fully dressed, mask included. Good, she remembered. Too many scrubs had to be reminded. A point in her favor, but no reason to go easy on her. He tapped her in the center of the chest, a scowl on his face. "Listen, princess-"

That's as far as he got before Heron grabbed the end of the staff, jerking it out of his hand and sweeping his legs out from under him. "I'm. Not. A princess. Anymore. Got it?" White Heron said, punctuating her statement by poking him in the chest with the staff. "I thought that was the whole point of this," she tapped on her mask, "to leave that life behind. Now I have one request before we get started." She extended a hand to help Sun to his feet and handed him back his staff. "Please for the love of whatever gods may be tell me there's coffee sometime in the near future?"

"Normally, no. But you managed to knock me on my ass, so I'll let you have a cup. One. You have to earn more."

Blossom giggled as Sun went down. Too bad the security cameras didn't have sound; she would have loved to hear what was happening. "Wonder what that was about?"

"It's Sun. He probably said something to piss her off. Her nickname might have been 'Ice Queen' at school, but once something manages to set her off, it's pretty epic, remember?"

"I remember." Blossom's voice took on a wistful tone. "But she's warm and caring too, once she's decided to open up to you."

"Hey, you've got to keep your distance, remember? She's got to earn her place, like everyone else."

"I know." Blossom's head hung low, down to her chest, and Dragon would have bet anything that if she could see her sister's eyes, there would be tears in them. "Seeing her again... brought back a lot of old feelings, good and bad. And having her decide to stay is worse. And having her there, right there, where I can reach out and touch her is torture, because I can't have her. I have to be the captain, keep my distance from the crew."

"Listen." Dragon took off her mask, then reached up and took off Blossom's too, setting it on the low table in front of the couch. "Ever since you made Captain, I've been really worried about you. You've been isolating yourself pretty badly. Even from me and Blake. Getting out last night was good for you; you need to do it more. You've gotta maintain some distance from the crew, but I think you're overdoing it."

"I don't... You know, I'm the youngest Corsair captain ever? And the fastest ever to make captain? No other Corsair has ever made captain in less than a decade, and they had command experience in the Imperial Navy."

"I know; I was there when your case was before the Captain's Council. But you stole not one but _four_ ships from the White Fang and fought a rear-guard action against them to keep them out of the Peltier system. Yeah, you made mistakes, but you learned fast and you kept most of the people with you alive while doing it. Not bad for somebody who has just passed the command course."

"I'm pretty sure the only reason some of the captains voted to let me keep _Crescent Rose_ was to watch me fail miserably."

"Wouldn't doubt it. But you haven't. Yeah, they've been giving you a lot of easy jobs, probably to let you get used to being captain. Listen, Ruby, I'm here for you, if you need a shoulder to cry on, or just somebody to vent at. So's Blake." Yang took a deep breath. This was getting into dangerous territory. "And I'm willing to bet that, once Weiss has gotten past the newbie chickenshit and found her place here, she'll be here for you too. Even if you two don't get back together, I'm pretty sure she's still willing to be your friend. You need friends."

"Mmm." Ruby wiped her eyes. "It's just, everything's so hard, you know?"

"I know." Yang gave Ruby's hand a squeeze. "But I'm your sister, Rubes. No matter what, I'll help you out. Friends will help too."

* * *

Crimson Blossom stepped into the training hall where White Heron and Sun Wukong were sparring. To their credit, neither of them broke stride or acknowledged her presence until she spoke. "You assessment, Wukong?"

Wukong grunted as he blocked an overhand strike from Heron. "She's good but rusty. With practice, I don't think it'll be long before she's back up to speed. Decent shot with small arms, but no experience with heavy weapons."

Heron came in low, taking advantage of his distraction to score a hit. "They're not taught at combat school, typically. And let's see you sit on your ass for five years in a monastery and not get 'rusty.'"

"Point." Sun swung around and caught Heron on the arm. "One thing you need to watch: People calling you 'princess' really sets you off. Need to get over that."

Blossom giggled. "Is that what made her knock you on your ass this morning?"

"Yep. Did it pretty smartly, too." Heron landed a hard hit on Wukong's arm; hearing the captain _giggle_ had thrown him off a step. Wuknong stepped back and lowered his weapon, giving Heron a friendly grin. "Listen, I know that, legally, you're not her anymore, but everyone _outcast's_ past comes with baggage. Yours is just more epic than some. Gotta learn to deal, okay?"

White Heron nodded and Blossom stepped closer. "And now, if you don't mind Mister Wukong, I'd like to borrow our new recruit for a while. I'll return her to you this afternoon."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it today; I've got those scrubs to get through small arms basics this afternoon. Lord and lady, this last batch is dumb. If they were any stupider, I'd officially request that you complain to the council for dumping them on you."

"What's a 'scrub'?" Heron asked as they walked down the corridor.

"New recruit. Lots of times, they're frontier kids, looking to earn money to send home, or Faunus slaves we've liberated. They're put through minimal training and sent to a ship to learn how to be crew." They flattened themselves against the wall to make room for a working party moving heavy equipment. "In some ways, you're a scrub, but in some ways not. That's why you're wearing that armband."

"This?" Heron gestured at her arm. One of the first things Sun had done was to hand her a black and yellow armband that bore the ship's crest, a crossed rose and Corsair's blade set against a crescent moon.

"Yep. Wear it all times, even ashore. That lets everyone know that, while you're an _outcast_ , you're not a fully-fledged Corsair yet. So if you do something stupid, it's on me, not on you, to a point."

Blossom looked around to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear, then lowered her voice. "Other things. First, until you're finished with your training, I... can't really talk to you. Captains don't talk to scrubs. Overseeing training is the XO's responsibility. That's Ironwood, in case you're wondering."

"I thought Yang-sorry, Dragon was the XO."

"No. She leads the marines. Boarding parties, that sort of thing. Up close and personal's more her style, and she really doesn't have the people skills to be XO. She's getting better, buuuut... And besides, taking Ironwood as my XO was part of the deal of me getting a captaincy."

"I understand." Heron's heart sank at the news. Couldn't she even talk to Blossom until she was done with training? How long was that going to take?

"Next, scrubs don't get compartments to themselves. Expect to share with a couple other scrubs before the day's done. Maybe _outcast_ , maybe not. Again, Ironwood's responsibility." Heron winced but didn't object. The space was already tiny, but to share it?

"And finally," Blossom stopped in front of a hatch bearing a caduceus, "you have an appointment in medical. You need to get fitted with a neural interface."

Heron froze. She'd never had an implant of any sort before, never really considered it. "Do-do I have to?"

"Afraid so. Too much of our equipment needs the interface to get the full use out of it. For example, the helmsman doesn't just pilot the ship, they _become_ the ship, in a way that's... indescribable. Don't worry, we don't use those full-dive interfaces you see in the vids, it's more like augmented reality than anything. We get the software from the same people who do the interfaces for the navy."

"Un-understood." Heron started to reach for the control to open the hatch, then stopped. "If-if this is the last time we'll be able to talk for a while, can I say something?" Blossom gave a cautious nod. "You were right; I didn't really think this through enough when I set this in motion. I just wanted to be _away_ from him; I didn't really care where. This is... not anywhere near where I expected to end up, to be honest. But it is where I am, and I will earn my place here. And... about you and me, I know that's going to be messy. But I... I still care about you, and if we can, I want to be with you again. Just... make sure no one goes easy on me, I want to earn my place, really earn my place, so that if— when we get back together, nobody questions my right to stand by your side."

"That's... quite the little speech there."

Heron blushed, knowing Blossom could see it under the half-mask she wore. "I know; I've been thinking about what to say for a the end, I decided to keep it brief and from the heart."

With a rush, Blossom was hugging Heron, her mask pressing into Heron's neck. "I missed you," Blossom whispered, just barely loud enough to hear. "Every day, even on the days I wanted to tear out your beating heart and show it to you, I still loved you. That was why what happened hurt so much. And now you're back, but things are different, complicated."

"They were complicated before, remember? But we dared, and we can dare again." Heron pulled away from Blossom, composing herself. "Now if you will excuse me, Captain, I believe I have an appointment in Medical."

Blossom shook her head. "Of course. Good luck with your training; I expect you will do well."

Heron stepped through the hatch to find Ironwood and two people she didn't know waiting for her. "Good afternoon, Heron. I've received Sun's report on your combat skills; he reports them a suitable but adds that you need a refresher and most likely tactical training. That will be handled in due time. First, I'd like to introduce you to your new roommates. This is Ardent Willow," the tall _outcast_ man on the right nodded, "and Thyla." The woman on the left nodded.

Heron couldn't help but note the fur on Thyla's hands; was she some sort of Faunus? "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Ironwood continued. "Both of them are 'scrubs' or new recruits like you; they're further along in their training right now, but given Mister Wukong's assessment, I think you'll catch up rapidly. Right now the thing I want you to learn from them is protocol, how to 'shut up and spacer' if you catch my drift. Willow, Thyla, she's your responsibility until tomorrow morning. Keep her out of trouble."

After Ironwood left, Thyla let out a whistle. "So you're the new recruit everyone's talking about. Are you really some sort of princess or something?"

Willow groaned. "You know you're not supposed to ask about before, Thyla. If she offers, that's fine, but we don't pry. For most _outcast_ , it's kind of a sore point."

Heron glanced around to see if the three of them were alone. "Let's just say I chose to become _an outcast_ because the situation I was in was unbearable. I'll explain later."

The implant procedure itself was relatively quick. Heron laid face-down on the table, felt a pinch at the back of her neck, and the next thing she knew she woke up with a splitting headache. "Now, it's going to feel pretty weird for several hours while the implants build the connections and adjust themselves. You may experience balance problems, hallucinations, synesthesia, that sort of thing. Report back to medical if it gets too intense. Don't fall asleep; the resulting nightmares are incredible. Here," the surgeon attached a monitor to the back of Heron's neck. "This will alert us if there's a severe problem. If the alarm sounds, report to medical immediately, I don't care what you're doing."

Heron tried to stand up, but couldn't find her balance. "Here, let me," Willow offered, but Thyla cut him off. "Ease up there, Romeo. One, she's more my height than yours, and two, pretty sure she's not interested in your charms."

They got Heron back to their compartment, Thyla asking "Which bunk?" and Heron muttering "Middle." The surgeon hadn't been kidding about things being weird. Lights and people had glowing halos, and she was pretty sure she could taste purple.

"You doing all right?" Willow asked as he came back with a tray of food.

"Y-yeah. Just really, really weird." Without thinking about it, Heron pulled her mask off and rubbed her eyes. That was a mistake; not only did it not offer relief, it made things worse. "Sorry to make you babysit," she added as she started to eat.

"Not a problem, we've been through this too. At least it's just you and not all three of us at once. That was pretty miserable." Unlike Thyla, he recognized Heron now that she had her mask off, and his brain was working furiously. What in the hell kind of fucked-up situation would make a princess of the Imperial house turn _outcast_? Yeah, definitely not going to ask, but sure as hell going to keep his ears open.

Eventually, the hallucinations passed, and a quick trip back to medical pronounced everything working fine. Heron collapsed into her bunk with relief. Another long day.

"Hey, Heron?"

"Yes, Willow?"

"Just so you know... I chose to be _outcast_ , too. Some creep tried to rape my sister, so I challenged him to a duel, killed him by accident. His family declared _vendetta_ , so I went outcast to save my family."

"Right." Heron sighed. "I-My father did something, something I couldn't live with. So I escaped, and chose to become _outcast_ so he couldn't drag me back."

"Got it."


	4. Chapter 4

_Weiss followed Professor Goodwitch down the dormitory hallway, listening attentively as the Deputy Headmaster of the Beacon Combat Academy spoke. "I will admit, I am surprised that a princess of the imperial family chose to attend Beacon instead of the Atlas academy itself. May I ask why?"_

" _My reasons are my own, and I do not care to discuss them."_

_"I see. Well, you will find that here, we treat all students the same. Your noble rank means nothing here; nobility and commoner students are treated equally. We will expect you to act accordingly."_

_"I understand." Weiss seethed a bit but did her best not to let it show. Why did everyone expect her to call upon her privilege all the time? Couldn't she be judged on her own merits just once?_

" _In any case... personal servants of any kind are not permitted here." Goodwitch glanced at the maid following along behind Weiss carrying her bags. "Your maid will have to go."_

" _I understand." Weiss could 'do for herself' a bit more than some noblewomen, now it seems she would have to do more._

_"Also, students are partnered at random and share a dorm room. Your partner arrived yesterday, and is waiting for you in your room."_

" _I look forward to meeting them."_

_"The term does not officially start for several days. Many students spend some of that time getting acquainted with their teammate since you will be working together for the duration of your stay here."_

" _An excellent suggestion."  
_

_Goodwitch stopped and turned to face Princess Weiss, regarding her with a critical eye. What in the thousand hells was she doing here, and what was Headmaster Ozpin thinking, letting her attend here. "I am going to be frank, Princess Weiss. I have... reservations about your attendance here. You are of the highest rank of the nobility, and Beacon Academy is more egalitarian than most combat schools. We admit students of all social orders, even the occasional Faunus. The only things we require for attendance are skill and dedication. So I will be watching you."_

" _Professor Goodwitch, I can understand your reservations. And while my reasons for attending Beacon instead of Atlas are private, you may rest assured that I do not intend to stand on ceremony while I am here. If I may be so bold, feel free to omit my title for duration of my time here, unless you feel the circumstance warrants it.'"_

_"I see. Well then, Miss Schnee, here we are." They stood in front of a plain door bearing the number 317. "This is your dorm room. Welcome to Beacon Academy." With that, Gooodwitch took her leave._

_Weiss took a calming breath and stepped inside. The room smaller than her room at the palace, with an inviting bay window; Weiss immediately regretted the number of possessions she'd brought with her and started cataloging what to keep and what to send home._

_Sitting on the bed farther from the bathroom door was a slight girl wearing a red-trimmed black dress and intently reading a magazine. Come to think of it, her hair was black with red highlights as well; picking one's outfit to suit one's complexion was a good idea, but the highlights in the hair were a bit low-class. Weiss sighed, startling the girl and making her look up. "S-sorry, I was reading. I'm kind of a geek about name's Ruby." Recognition dawned in the girl's eyes. "Oh! You're Princess Weiss, aren't you? I heard a rumor you were attending Beacon, but I didn't give it much credit." The girl rose and gave a reasonable attempt at a court bow. "How do you do, your highness? My name is Ruby Rose, of the House of Xiao Long, and it's a pleasure to meet you."_

_Weiss gestured towards the dresser that didn't seem to be in use yet, speaking to her maid. "Set my bags over there; I'll handle the unpacking myself. Wait in the hallway and I'll make your travel arrangements back to the palace shortly." Turning back to her roommate and new partner, she put on a friendly smile. "Since we're going to be partners for the duration of our stay, I think it would be counterproductive to insist on you calling me 'Princess' or "Your Highness' all the time. Please, call me Weiss. Are—are you the heir to the House of Xiao Long?"_

_Ruby shook her head. "No, that's my older sister, Yang. She's a first-year here at Beacon too."  
_

" _Older sister? I"m sorry, I don't quite understand."_

_"We're two years apart. I got an early admission since I'm a bit of a prodigy" Ruby grinned lopsidedly. "I unlocked my Aura and Semblance when I was really young. Someone tried to assassinate my dad and almost got me in the process."_

" _Oh!" Weiss nibbled the inside of her lip, then decided to take the plunge. "I... haven't mastered my Semblance completely yet. The Schnee heritage is mine, but I've only mastered the glyphs; summonings are beyond me yet. Maybe you could help me?"_

_"I know some meditation and channeling techniques we can try, but glyphs and summoning aren't my things; my Semblance is speed." Ruby demonstrated with a couple of quick bursts around the room, leaving showers of rose petals behind her. Ruby finished up standing in front of Weiss and laid a hand on Weiss's shoulder, looking her in the eye, silver meeting pale blue with a smile. "I think we're going to get along just fine."_

_Weiss answered Ruby's smile with her own, a genuine one that came from her heart. "I think so too." Plus one partner, plus one friend for the day._

"-ron?"

Heron looked up to where Thyla was standing over her, spotting for her on the weight bench. "My mind drifted off for a moment; what was that?"

"I asked what ratings you were going to strike for." Heron gripped the bar and started lifting as Thyla continued. "Me, I'm going for medic. I was a paramedic back on the mining colony. Maybe that'll count in my favor? I put in for shuttle pilot too, but I don't know; that one's kinda technical and I'm not really good at that kind of thing."

Heron grunted as she lifted the bar. "Medical- _unh_ -is- _unh_ -technical- _unh_ -too, isn't it?" They were coming to the end of their basic training, and it was time to choose what job on the ship, or rating, they wanted to train for.

"Different sort of technical. I'm not super-good with machines." Thyla tilted her head as she looked down at Heron. "Huh, that's new."

"What's new?"

"That ring you have a chain around your neck. Haven't seen you wear it before."

Heron dropped the bar on the uprights and sat up. Shit. She'd slipped the engagement ring off her finger at the monastery and hidden it before the monks took her clothes away. For five years, it had been her anchor, her way of reminding herself that there was hope of escape. Lately, she'd been feeling the need for that anchor again, and had put the ring on a chain around her neck. "Thyla, just... don't talk about it. It's from _before._ "

Thyla nodded. "Got it. Like Willow and his picture of that little girl. I guess a lot of _outcasts_ need something from before to help them, sometimes. It's just... I saw the captain in the shower the other day and she wears a ring like that on a chain around her neck too."

Heron's heart skipped a beat. Damn. If Thyla (who was pretty clueless about a lot of things) noticed, then... "Must be a coincidence."

"Riiight." Thyla grinned. "So, what are you striking for? You never did say."

"Yeah, princess, tell us how you're going to save us all."

Heron didn't even have to look; she recognized the asshole's voice. "Krait. Piss off; private conversation."

"No such thing on a ship, especially here." Krait's arms spread wide, encompassing the crowded workout room, then rested his hands his hips, leering at Heron. "So tell, us, princess, which division aboard the ship have you decided to grace with your presence?"

"That's not your business, Krait. What's your business is that you're on report for harassment. Again." Ironwood had come up behind Krait and now stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture stern and unforgiving. "Krait, you've been put on report more than once for harassing new _outcasts_. I don't think the captain is going to go easy on you this time. You're confined to quarters until further notice. Dismissed. As for you, White Heron, you have the fighter pilot's exam to sit. Get cleaned up and come with me."

"Fighter pilot?!" Thyla squealed with delight. "That's like the hardest one to apply for, much less pass! Good luck!"

Ironwood led Heron to the briefing room next to the ship's flight simulators. "You have two hours on the written portion of the exam. Each question is timed and may have multiple correct answers, as well as one 'best' answer. You will be graded on time to answer each question, accuracy of each answer, and number of questions answered. Begin."

The only word Heron could summon up for the written portion was 'brutal.' Not only was each question timed, the time given for the questions varied, sometimes barely giving her time to read the question before having to punch in an answer. Afterwards, she stood waiting for what seemed like an eternity while Ironwood graded the test. Heron did her best not to fidget, but she could feel sweat beading under her mask. She'd known it was tough to pass the pilot's exam; maybe she'd overreached herself this time? Her backup plan was to put in to be a marine, even if the idea of working under Golden Dragon was daunting, to say the least. Finally, Ironwood closed the display and stood. "Passed, although there are specific areas that I will flag for you to focus on during your training, assuming you pass the practical portion. You've had some civilian flight experience; it shows in your answers. Combat piloting is different and you'll have to adapt."

"Yes, sir."

Ironwood led her into the simulator room. Heron had thought it odd at first that the _Crescent Rose_ had a dozen simulators, given that the ship only carried twelve fighters plus assorted other small craft. Then she'd learned that the captain had made the simulators available to everyone and that a large portion of the crew possessed at least basic flight qualification. Apparently having qualified shuttle pilots handy had been a problem at one point.

Ironwood gestured her towards the one pod that stood open and waiting. "Get in. You'll find that it's set up for a standard Scimitar loadout."

"What's the scenario? What do I do?" Heron asked as she strapped herself in.

"Survive."

* * *

Heron cursed under her breath as she jinked to her left. 'Survive' Ironwood had said. Easier said than done; she'd zoned in to find herself surrounded by nine opponents. And these weren't set at the standard difficulty either; someone had cranked things up to 11. She scowled; it was easy to understand making thing hard for training, but surely an entrance exam would be easier than this?

The only piece of luck had come at the start. Her opponents' positions and aspects had been random, and one had been both close and facing away from her, so she'd tagged him right off. Now she cut her engines and slewed the nose of her fighter up and to her left, bracketing a second opponent with her weapons. _Two down, seven to go._ Luckily the enemy's numbers were actually working against them to some extent. They were so eager to get her they were actually getting in each other's way! Heron faked towards an opening that appeared, then flipped her fighter end-for-end and came at the fighter directly behind her head-on. She caught a piece of him but paid for it with damage of her own.

_Damn, have to be more careful._ Heron turned and swung towards two enemies that seemedto have finally caught on to the idea of coordination. She triggered one of her precious few missiles toward the one in the lead, forcing them to evade, then took the trailer with guns.

Her fighter shook as it took a hard hit. Glancing at the status display, she could see main power was failing, her weapons were gone. "Stand down, Heron," Ironwood came over her headset. "You've taken a fatal hit, and your weapons are out. No shame in tapping out here."

"Wrong, I've got one weapon left." If she was going to fail, she was going out with a bang. " _Mass_." Heron turned the fighter toward the enemy that had killed her fighter, disengaging the safety overrides and pushing the engines beyond redline.

Even as her dying engines began to fail, Heron could see her killer filling the view through her canopy. It was trying to evade, but this time its momentum was working against it. Heron's fighter slammed into its killer, destroying it in a fiery embrace, and the simulator's displays went black.

She sat in the dim light of the simulator pod until Ironwood opened it from the outside. _I failed. Time to pick another rating. Maybe Dragon will take me for the marines, or I can strike for helmsman._ Eight people leaned up against the window between the briefing room and the simulators, regarding her with a variety of looks. Most were fairly neutral, but one guy looked amused and one woman looked just plain pissed off. A motion to her left drew her eye, and she stiffened as another pod opened up on her left. Crimson Blossom stepped out, wearing a flight suit, and Heron realized that there were a total of ten pods standing open, including her own. _Wait, I was going up against trained pilots? Including the wing leader and the Captain?_ That was, as Thyla would put it, 'some serious bullshit.'

The Captain stepped to the opposite end of the compartment from Heron, her boots making a _click-click-click_ that echoed in the quiet and took up position against the bulkhead, hands behind her back, looking down the row of pilots. "Thoughts?"

The woman with the scowl spoke first. "She got me by luck, but I'll admit she's got moxie. In."

A man halfway down the line spoke next. "Where'd you pick up that slew turn shot, rookie?"

"I, uh, made it up?" This drew chuckles from some of the other pilots, and the man nodded. "Good eye spotting it was there. In."

In the end, it was tied four to four, and everyone was looking at Crimson Blossom, who stood there in silence. Finally, she spoke. "This scenario is deliberately designed not to be survivable. Instead, it's intended to be a test of skill and determination, to give a pilot a chance to show their skills. Two kills is generally considered passing; you achieved four, although I'm not sure we should count the last one since you achieved it by ramming which is not recommended." This drew another round of laughter. "Pass. Stalwart Ironwood, will you prepare the requisition chit for her new uniforms and equipment, please. I want to speak with White Heron alone for a moment; the rest of you are dismissed."

As soon as they were alone, Crimson Blossom reached up and took off her mask. "Why, Weiss? Why a fighter pilot?"

"Because I think I can be good at it, Ruby." Weiss pulled off her own mask, and what Ruby saw in her eyes worried her. "Because it's the toughest rating to qualify for, and if I passed, there was no way anyone could say there was any favoritism on your part." She looked down at the deck. "I didn't expect you to involve yourself in the test."

"Actually, Ironwood picked us from the pool of qualified fighter pilots. Though it might have been stacking the deck putting both me and the flight leader in against you." Ruby grinned and spun her mask on a fingertip. "And, hey, you took out four of us, including me. I was the one you rammed."

"No wonder you were thinking about quibbling over that kill!" They shared a laugh for a moment. "So, after, I pass-"

" _If_ you pass. It gets harder from here."

" _When_ I pass... Ruby, will you go out to dinner with me? To celebrate? I'm pretty sure they have to let us off this ship eventually."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" But Ruby was smiling as she put her mask back on. "And I have to admit you did better than I did when I took this test."

"H-How many did you get?"

"Three. But I didn't ram someone."


	5. Chapter 5

Heron stood just inside the hatch to the flight deck, watching the bustle of activity around her. If pressured, she'd have to admit that her grasp of technical matters was limited in a lot of respects, but everyone on the flight deck seemed to be moving with a purpose.

Everyone but her, she realized. She's been ordered to report to the flight deck wearing her flight suit and to bring her helmet, but she had no idea where exactly she was supposed to be or what she was supposed to do. She assumed that Corrin, the commander of the _Crescent Rose_ 's fighter wing, would eventually tell her what he wanted her to do (chewing her out for not knowing automatically), but for now, Heron simply watched, trying to get a feel for the ebb and flow of the flight deck.

Forward in one of the maintenance bays, she could see four technicians working on one of the ship's two Coyote-class fighter-bombers. Heavier and less maneuverable than the Scimitars that made up the ship's two fighter squadrons, they more than made up for it by carrying a significant amount of firepower and ECM capability. Speaking of the Scimitars, Heron could see four of them in various places on the flight deck undergoing maintenance. The Scimitar was a multirole fighter, a jack-of-all-trades sort of fighter if a master of none. It was even atmosphere-capable, although its maneuverability and speed would be severely compromised. One of the Scimitars seemed to be getting a full teardown; she pitied whichever pilot was assigned to that fighter. And beyond the flight deck, past the force field that kept the atmosphere in, lay the utter blackness of space. Knowing it was this close, that if the power to the force field failed, her and everyone else on the flight deck would likely be sucked into space by explosive decompression filled her with a bit of terror and fascination at the same time. Still, this was a fear she knew and could keep at bay. Heron and the siren song of the blackness of space were old friends, and it was this familiarity was one of the things that had pushed her to become a fighter pilot.

"Clear the hatch, rookie." Corrin was standing behind her, hands behind his back and regarding her with a scowl. "Never stop dead just inside a hatch; it keeps other personnel from coming and going."

"Yes, sir."

"Follow me." Corrin led the way across the flight deck, stepping nimbly around people working. Heron tried to imitate him but knew she was failing miserably from the looks she was getting, swearing under her breath as she banged shins and knees on equipment that was ever so slightly in her way. "Okay, a couple of things we need to get out of the way. First of all, you're assigned to Wyvern squadron, your callsign unless otherwise notified is Wyvern Six. Good news, we've got a fighter to assign you to. Bad news, it's this one." Corrin stopped in front of the fighter getting the full teardown, and Heron's heart sank. "Just before you came onboard, the Captain picked this up for a song. Didn't take us long to figure out why it came so cheap. Have a look, let's see what catches your eye."

Heron stepped slowly around the fighter, running her fingers along its skin, mind spinning in circles. This was _her_ place, _her_ fighter, and soon they would take flight together, part of the _Crescent Rose_ 's arsenal, giving the ship and its captain eyes and claws and teeth beyond their reach. She shook her head to focus and started looking for things that looked out of place on her Scimitar. "The guns have been replaced. Not sure what with, they're unfamiliar." She bent down to look underneath. "Internal weapons bay door looks odd, bigger maybe? Again, not sure if that's good or bad. And the engines have been modified as well; the coolant lines look heavier than normal."

"Good eye. There's other stuff that's visible, but not bad spotting for a rookie. This was somebody's pet project. They were trying to turn it into a heavy fighter but didn't get it right. Too many power-hungry systems and no reactor upgrade, so it's a bitch to maintain and it's going to be a bitch to fly. Congratulations, rookie, you get to fly a Frank."

"Frank?" Heron turned to face Corrin, frowning. "I don't get the reference."

"Frank, short for Frankenstein. A cobbled-together pain in the ass." Seeing the disappointment on Heron's face, Corrin laughed. "Don't take it personally. Rookies always get the bad ships to fly; it makes them better pilots when they get a good bird. Pretty sure the Captain will replace this fairly soon, and this thing will get turned into parts or sold for scrap. Go ahead and climb in."

Heron climbed the ladder into the fighter, her pulse quickening with a mixture of excitement and dread. The 'Frankenstein' modifications continued inside; the standard controls had been replaced with flat panel displays, unusual for a combat spacecraft where a slip of a finger could be a costly mistake. She settled into the pilot's seat which, again, was nonstandard, but seemed comfortable. Frowning, she reached under the seat, then swore profusely. "Problem?" Corrin asked.

"Seat adjust doesn't work."

"And that's a problem because?"

"I"m _short_ , Corrin. If I can't reach the controls, I can't fly."

"Ah. Nice catch, none of us spotted it, but we're all taller than you. In fact, I think you're the shortest pilot candidate I've seen in a long time." Corrin tapped one of the techs working on Heron's fighter on the shoulder. "Add fixing the seat adjust to the list, will you? Or moving the damned seat forward if we have to." The tech nodded, making an entry on his datapad, and Corrin gestured for Heron to leave her fighter. "Come on out, we're going to get you some time in a trainer today."

Heron started to follow Corrin, then stopped as a craft unlike any she had ever seen came into view. Painted in a black-and-red color scheme, something about the strange craft's lines called out to her _I am death come for you, let us dance your final dance together._ She let out a low whistle. "Glorious," she whispered, not even truly aware she had spoken aloud until Corrin laughed.

"Don't get any bright ideas about that bird. That's the captain's personal property; a gift from a nobleman whose hide we saved a few months ago. Pity she doesn't get to fly it much. Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown and all that. Don't think she's gotten any stick time in a month."

Corrin led Heron over to a two-seat trainer fighter and gestured for her to take the pilot's seat. "Come on, let's get you out in the black. I like to do this first day with trainees; best to find out if you can handle actually being in a fighter right off the bat."

She nodded and started climbing into the cockpit. Some smartass had written _Abandon all hope ye who enter here_ right below the canopy, between the ladder attachment points. "Don't think that's going to be a problem with and I are old friends."

"Trust me, it's different in a fighter. Let me guess, you flew a shuttle, maybe a yacht?" Heron made a vaguely affirmative noise as she started to pre-flight the trainer. "There's a lot less craft around you with a fighter. You're basically riding a missile with a seat. Only difference between you and that missile is that hopefully, you're smarter."

"Got it. Pre-flight checks complete; we are ready to fly." Corrin nodded and double-checked the pre-flight checklist. "Take her out," he said, waving a hand vaguely toward the blackness of space outside.

"Uhh... " Heron looked at everything on the flight deck between them and the force field. "Do I... do I ask them to move, or fly over them?"

He laughed. "Fly over them, slow and careful. Don't forget to notify the FCO we're going out. Trainer's callsign is 'Donkey' or 'Donk,' don't ask me why; it's tradition."

She nodded, made the call to flight control, and started taking them out of the flight deck. As they rose above the deck, something odd happened. Almost everyone stopped working and saluted as they floated over. "Why are they saluting?"

"Again, tradition. Fighters are expendable assets. If it comes down to sacrificing us or the ship, guess who takes the hit?"

"Us." The 'Donk' crossed the force field out into space, and Heron gave the main engines a bit of throttle. "Which way?"

"'Speed and heading' is the preferred phrasing, and the answer is, directly away from the ship, at cruising speed. I'll let you know when we're far enough away."

* * *

On the _Crescent Rose_ 's bridge, Captain Crimson Blossom was watching their new pilot trainee on the main tactical plot. She grinned happily. Heron was finding her place alright. If only they could just _be together_... Give it time. Time for wounds to heal, time for Heron to establish herself as an _outcast_ and a Corsair, time, time, time.

Behind her came a gentle cough. "Watching our new pilot?" Ironwood stood behind her, his face below the mask nigh-unreadable as usual.

"I always watch the new pilots."

He stepped closer, peering over her shoulder. "But she means more to you than most," he muttered.

"Yes." No point in denying it; Ironwood knew her too well to be fooled.

"Care explain why? At first, I thought taking her aboard was simple spite against the Emperor, vengeance for what he'd done to your House. But I'm thinking there's more to it than that." Ironwood's voice grew grim. "Frankly, this has political implications that are larger than either one of us, that might affect all Corsairs. Don't make me fight this battle unarmed."

Blossom nodded, still watching the plot as Heron started taking the Donkey through some simple maneuvers. "Not here, and it stays between us." Blossom led the way off the bridge into the officer's wardroom, mercifully vacant at the moment. Blossom sat down in the captain's traditional chair at the head of the table, leaning back and staring at the overhead as if to derive inspiration for a place to start from it. She sighed and pulled off her mask, setting it on the table and rubbing her eyes. "Heron-Weiss and I knew each other before, at combat school."

"I knew you knew each other before, and given your ages, I assumed it was from school."

"Four years at combat school together. So I know how good a fighter she is, and she's good, really good." Ruby rose and poured herself a cup of coffee. "What you _don't_ know is that she and I fell in love. We were 'together' for most of our time at combat school. I didn't think it would be forever, I guess I assumed that after graduation, we'd go our separate ways.

"Weiss... had other ideas. Less than an hour after graduation, she proposed to me. A full formal and witnessed proposal with all the trimmings. I... got swept off my feet, accepted on the spot. Bad mistake.

"I called and told my father; he was delighted. When Weiss called hers, he seemed to take it well, but asked her to return to the palace alone to discuss the matter with him."

"I take it his surface acceptance was less than genuine?"

"Got it in one. She got shipped off to some monastery for five years where she got punished if she spoke, sang, or even cried out in pain. From... from what she told me when she came aboard, the only voices she was allowed to hear during that time were flunkies sent to ask if she'd come home and be a good girl. Not long after she disappeared, treason charges were leveled against my father, our House. You know how that ended up." Ironwood grimaced. He knew the story of how Dragon and Blossom had ended up as _outcasts_ in detail. "So as soon as she cons her way out of the monastery, she finds out what happened to me, figures out a way to get ahold of me. We cooked up disguising a rescue as a kidnapping in order to make it legal by the Corsair code. What I didn't expect was her deciding to stay, to become _outcast_ and a Corsair herself."

"You didn't have to let her stay. You could have passed her off on another ship. That might have been the better option."

"That's just it." Blossom sat back down in the captain's seat, staring morosely into her coffee. "I wanted her here, even as I wanted her anywhere else so long as it was _safe_."

"And then she decided to become a fighter pilot, one of the most dangerous jobs aboard."

"Yeah. After her exam in the sims, I looked her in the eye. And what I saw there, it made me afraid for her."

"Afraid how?"

"I told her she needs to find her place, and she's found a rating to strike for, but she's missing the point. She needs to find a _home_ here. She barely socializes when she's off-duty, she just studies and trains more. Ever see her in the ship's Cantina? I haven't." Ruby sighed. "I think she's fixated on her 'place' being with me, and not seeing that she needs to make other friends too. But I can't exactly order her to go out and get drunk and party, now can I?"

Ironwood grunted. "I understand your concern. Let me see if I can find a way to address that. Blossom... Ruby, I think you're a little more alone than is good for you either. You go to the cantina, but I always see you sitting alone in a corner."

"A captain has to maintain distance-"

" _Bullshit_. I know they tell you that at the command course, but no-one is an island. Go to the cantina, even if it's just with your sister and Blake. If she sees you there, hanging out, it might make her spend more time there as well. And..." The glimmer of an idea tickled in the back of his mind, and he pulled out his scroll. "Let me check something. Yes, I thought so. Nobody updated Heron to flight status, which would put her at the bottom of the list for open sim time." A couple of taps and it was done. "There, Heron now has the evening free. And I know just the person to get her out of her shell."

* * *

Heron's scroll chimed a message just as she was climbing down the boarding ladder from the Donkey. "Damn. I had some sim time scheduled for tonight, and now I've been bumped." "Someone must have switched you over to flight status. See, if you're on flight status, sim time you're scheduled for as part of standard training takes priority over the general queue, but you go to the bottom of the list for open time. Don't worry about it, you'll be getting so much sim time you're sick of it." Corrin shook his head. "And we need to get you some stick time in that Frank of yours too since it's not going to perform like a standard Scimitar."

Sun Wukong was leaned up against the bulkhead next to the hatch leading off the flight deck. "Heron, you busy tonight?"

"Not anymore," she growled.

"Easy, easy." Sun raised his hands in a mock-defensive gesture. "I don't know what pissed you off, but I'm pretty sure I didn't have anything to do with it. Listen, Blake and Dragon have been on edge lately. Blake thinks Dragon's being too quick to forgive you, after the hell she and her sister went through. Me, I don't know what the deal is there, not my business anyway. But do you think you could talk to Blake, give her your side of things?"

"Sure." Given that Blake was Dragon's lifepartner, it probably was a good idea to have Blake happy with her anyway.

"Okay. Listen, I'm going to give you a heads-up on a point of Corsair etiquette you probably haven't run into yet. If there's bad blood between two people who can probably work it out, one of them will go to the other with two glasses and a bottle. The idea is that you drink and you talk until you run out of booze."

"And if you've still got talking to do when you've finished the bottle?"

"Then you find another bottle or a bar, whichever seems like the better idea."

Blake's eyes narrowed and her ears flattened on top of her head as she saw who was standing outside the hatch to the quarters she shared with Dragon. Heron was far from her least favorite person aboard (right now a certain flight tech was climbing _that_ list), but she sure as hells didn't like the former princess, or trust her motivations for coming aboard. "What do you want?" she didn't quite growl, then scolded herself mentally at her tone. Dragon had asked her to be nice, and judging by Heron's reaction, she had missed the mark badly."

"Someone told me you don't like me, or me being here. I can understand that; given everything Dragon and Blossom have been through." Heron lifted her hands to show Blake the bottle and glasses she held. "Someone also told me one way Corsairs solve a problem like that involves two glasses and a bottle. Care to hear my side of things?"

"Sure, but one condition." Blake reached up and tapped the edge of Heron's mask. "Mask off, I want to look the woman who ruined Dragon's life in the eyes."

Heron froze for a moment, then laughed. "I guess I had that coming, didn't I? I get so used to wearing it, to being White Heron, not... who I was before, that I forget about before. Agreed, then. May I come in? I've gotten to the point now that I don't like taking off my mask in public."

The two of them sat down on cushions by the low table, and Blake whistled at the label on the bottle as Heron poured the drinks. "That's not a cheap bottle, especially given what I know scrubs make."

"Nope. Half week's pay, all told. But I didn't want to insult you by being _too_ thrifty." Heron sighed, then took off her mask. "Something else new to get used to, keeping track of what things cost, managing money."

"Easy not to keep track of what things cost, when someone else is paying the bill."

"Yeah." Wiess reached up and undid her hair, freeing it from the bun she'd tied it up in to fly and letting it spill down her back. Blake had to admit that Weiss did have gorgeous hair, nothing on Dragon's magnificent mane when it was set free, but glorious in its own way. "Blake, are you familiar with the phrase, 'gilded cage'?" Blake nodded. "That's what being a princess is like. Nothing that's 'yours' is really yours, everything comes with the power and position, and that's the cost, you have to uphold that position. Everything I had could be taken away at _his_ whim. And then I found one thing that was mine, truly _mine_ , that he couldn't take away, and then he found a way to take that away too."

"You're talking about Ruby."

Weiss gave a quick, sharp, jerking nod as she took a sip of her drink. "I suppose I should start there, with my first mistake: Thinking that a princess would be allowed to marry for love."

* * *

_Wiess and Ruby walked along hand in hand, the echoes of graduation still in their ears. Both of them had graduated at the top of their class, with high honors, although neither of them had achieved the highest honor. That had gone to their friend and Yang's roommate, Pyrrha Nikos, who trailed along behind them now._

" _Ruby, have you given any thought to after graduation? What will you do now?" Weiss murmured, afraid to speak too loudly and spoil the moment._

" _I'm not sure. Yang's the Heir to our House, but Dad's young; it's a long time before she'll have to worry about inheriting everything. I guess I always assumed I'd find some way to be useful to her."_

_"Might I present an... alternative to being 'useful' to your sister?" Weiss skipped ahead of Ruby, kneeling down in front of her, drawing her rapier Myrtenaster and setting its point on the ground. "Ruby Rose, of the house of Xiao Long, I can imagine no greater honor than to have you by my side for the rest of my days. Yours is the face I want to see first thing in the morning for as long as I live. Will you marry me?"_

" _I..." Ruby froze, panic setting in. What she and Weiss had was wonderful beyond words, and she wished it could last forever, but to_ marry _Weiss? That dream was unimaginable. "D-don't you have to marry for the benefit of the Empire or somesuch? I'm a nothing girl from at best a middling House."_

_There was a twinkling in Weiss's eyes as she spoke. "Firstly, I'm Heir Tertius, after my younger brother and my older sister, remember? And second, it's my choice anyway, by law and tradition. A witnessed betrothal has the force of a contract. Even if my father pressures me to break it, he has to compensate your House. And I'm fairly certain the going rate on a Princess of the Imperial House is pretty steep."_

_"I was wondering why Pyrrha was tagging along," Ruby glanced back at their friend, who was standing back, regarding them both with a studied, neutral expression. "You brought her along to be a witness, didn't you?" She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge, searching for the right words. "Very well, Weiss Schnee of the House of Schnee, I accept your marriage proposal, for the time being. Since this is... unexpected, we'll have to discuss the finer points before a full, formal acceptance."_

_Weiss nodded, standing and sheathing Myrtenaster. Normally marriages between the noble houses of the empire were intricately negotiated affairs, even a match that was ostensibly purely for love. "Ruby, I don't care if you join my House with nothing but yourself or vice versa. All I want, all I need, is you. One more thing, however." Weiss reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box. "I took the liberty of getting a ring for you, in hope of your acceptance." She opened it and Ruby gave a small delighted gasp. At first glance, it was a simple metal band, most likely titanium, since Weiss and Ruby both shared an affinity of that metal. But a closer glance revealed a subtle pattern etched into the outside of the ring of roses and snowflakes. The inside of the band bore three simple words, 'For my rose.' "It's beautiful, Weiss, almost as beautiful as you."_

" _May I?" Ruby nodded, and Weiss slipped the ring onto her hand. Ruby admired the ring for a moment, transfixed by it and all it represented. "I suppose I should get you one as well," she murmured._

" _Well..." Weiss fidgeted for a moment, then pulled out a second box. "I, uh, I got one for me to match, but there's no inscription on it yet. I thought I'd leave that to you and we could add it later."_

_Laughing, Ruby held out her hand. "May I?" she said, echoing Weiss's words of moments ago, and Weiss nodded, handing her the box. Ruby blushed as she slipped the ring onto Weiss's hand. Now Weiss was hers, and she Weiss's, and nothing would ever separate them again._

_Weiss smoothed her gown nervously as she waited for the call with her father to connect. Despite all her bravado in front of Ruby, she was less than certain of her father's reaction to what she had done. If she had to, she could break with her father, leave the house of Schnee and join the house of Xiao Long, but that would make things difficult for Ruby's family, and she didn't want that._

_The call connected, and she could see her father sitting behind his desk in his working office. So she was interrupting the working day. Not good; it was likely to make him less agreeable. "Weiss, congratulations on your graduation. I hear the competition for the highest honors was extreme. Given the quality of your competition, I see no shame in coming in second."_

" _Thank you, Father, your praise is appreciated." She drew a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. "But that is not the reason behind my call. This call is personal in nature."_

" _Oh?" Jacques Schnee shifted in his seat, his expression growing more serious._

_"You recall, of course, my roommate and partner, Miss Ruby Rose of the House of Xiao Long? I have asked Ruby to marry me, and she has accepted, conditional on the formalities being observed, of course, since I... caught her by surprise."_

_Her father gave a brief bark of laughter, a good sign. "Got carried away by the romance of it all, did you? I know Taiyang Xiao Long, he's a good man. Doesn't agree with me on a lot of things, but he's usually giving me hell over the principle of the matter and not for his own gain. I'm sure his daughter is cut from the same cloth." Jacques shifted, his face growing serious again. "I had hoped to find you a sound match among the Border Lords, to cement their loyalty to the Empire more firmly. They've been getting restless of late. But if you've made your choice, you've made your choice. I want you to come back to the Palace and we'll discuss this. I'll even send my own yacht to pick you up, that way we can get the formalities handled more quickly and start spreading the good news. Has Ruby told her family yet?"_

_Weiss nodded. "Her sister was the fourth person to know, and she beat me on the coin toss for the Hypercom."_

" _Fourth? Oh, you, Ruby, and a witness. Someone we can trust to hold their tongue until this is made public, I hope?" Weiss nodded again. This was going better than she'd hoped. "I'll let our family know, and send_ Atlas Ascendant _to pick you up."_

* * *

"That was a trap, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. He was lying through his teeth. I never even reached the palace. And I'm certain he never talked to my brother, my sister, or my mother, not that she would have been sober enough to notice."

* * *

_Weiss opened her eyes, wincing as the light sent pain stabbing through her skull to compound her throbbing headache. Where was she? She sat up, but nothing looked familiar. The room was small bare, with simple wooden furniture, lit only by a window next to the bed she laid in. A man she didn't recognize wearing a monk's robes stood just inside the door. He bowed, not the full bow a princess of her rank was due, but something more like a teacher would give a student. "Princess Weiss, your father has entrusted you to the care of this monastery. Here you will remain until you are ready to retake your place as a proper, obedient daughter and princess of the Empire. Those are his orders." "He can't do this to me!" she shouted, rising to her feet, fists balled, ready to take on anyone, anything, that would free her from his place._

_"Princess, please." Sorrow crept into the monk's voice even as his face retained outward serenity. "No ship remains to take you from this world. And the one communicator we have is locked for my use alone, and the only reason it is here is that your father imposed it on us so we could report on your status when bidden to do so. Further orders for you from your father: Other than myself, the monks here have taken vows of silence, and you will respect that. From now on, you are forbidden to speak, sing, or cry out in pain. You are to remain absolutely silent unless given permission to speak by myself or your father's representative. Also, you are not permitted to take part in any combat training, including even the martial arts done by the monks of this monastery. Finally, your clothing and other possessions are to be taken from you. While here, you will dress as the monks here. You will do as you are instructed by myself or the other senior monks. Fail to comply with the rules set out for you, and you will be punished. Do you understand? You may speak to respond."_

_Weiss gritted her teeth. Her father was not going to get away with this. But for now, she had to play along. "I understand."_

_"Good." The monk stepped forward and laid a bundle of plain clothing on the bed. "Please change into this. When you are done, I will acquaint you with the monastery grounds and your duties."_

_As soon as he stepped outside to let her dress, Weiss broke into tears, not only for herself but Ruby as well. If her father was willing to do this to her, what would he do to Ruby, who to him must mean less than nothing? She had to get out of here, but to do that, she needed a plan. And to plan, she needed information._

_She dried her eyes with a wipe of a sleeve, something she normally would have found unthinkable. Weiss dressed quickly, removing all her jewelry and laying it on her formal clothes. She ran her fingers lightly over the fine fabric; would she ever wear such things again? Or would she be confined to this place forever?_

_The last thing she did was pull her engagement ring from her hand. That was the one thing she could not bring herself to surrender, this tangible token of her promise to Ruby. She glanced around for a hiding place, but the bare cell gave her little hope. Finally, she slid it under the meager pillow at one end of the sleeping pallet. A poor place for so precious a thing, but the best she could do for now. The last thing she did was work he hair into a quick braid and step out into the hallway._

_The monk bowed to her again, saying "Please understand, we will do what we must, but not out of anger. Bring your clothing and follow me."_

* * *

_Time passed. At first, she tried to count the days, but quickly realized it was pointless; she was here as long as she was here. She found little things to help her get through, like pulling out her ring at the end of the day and talking to it as if it were Ruby, telling it about her day._

_She left out when she got punished, though. She knew it would make Ruby sad if she knew that Weiss was being beaten for breaking the rules, so she didn't tell her, as simple as that._

_By day, she did her best to be meek and obedient, keeping her eyes open for useful information. By night, she crept through the darkened halls of the monastery, learning the layout of the buildings, the grounds, and fields, the pattern of the monks' nighttime movements._

_All for nothing. There was no technology in the monastery outside the head monk's office, and that was limited to the communicator and a small number of rifles for handling dangerous wildlife. Beyond the monastery, wilderness stretched as far as she could see from the highest point accessible to her, the monastery's bell tower_ _. The communicator was a sealed unit,_ _most likely Aura-locked to the head monk._

_So she endured. She learned the silent language of gestures the monks used to 'talk' to each other, although she herself said very little herself, doing whatever chore she was given eagerly and diligently. When her long hair became a matted, tangled mess, she sat to have her head shaved as the monks did. The barber was so startled he dropped his razor and ran to get the head monk. The head monk's response was to shave her head himself. Forbidden to join in martial arts practice with the monks, she watched covertly, scrubbing the floors where she could watch them, then practicing the moves by herself at night. She stole a wooden pole to practice with weapons as best she could._

_One day she was called to the head monk's office. Sitting there with the head monk was a man she didn't know, fat, arrogant, and wearing full court dress. Bidden to sit, she stood, keeping a relaxed posture she could maintain for hours, using a curious knot in the wood paneling in the corner of her eye as a focus for her mind._

" _Princess, your father has sent me to check up on you. He asks if you are ready to take your place as a proper princess of the Empire."_

_She did not reply, instead letting her eyes follow the wood grain of the paneling._

" _He will want an answer, princess."_

_Silence._

_"Fine. Apparently, you have yet to learn your lesson."_

_When the man had left, the head monk gestured, inviting her to sit. "Please, princess, let us take tea." She sat, and accepted a cup of tea. "Why, Princess, do you sit and take tea with me, and not that man?"_

" _Because every day I am here, I am not where my father wants me to be." Weiss coughed; she hadn't spoken even in private for days and her throat had become more unused to speech than usual._

" _But he sent you here."_

_"To break me. When I am broken, he will send me where he truly wants me to be."_

_The monk nodded in understanding._

* * *

_The days continued. More men came, with varying degrees of bluster or pleading, or bribery for her. Each one was sent home in disappointment._

_One night as she practiced with her wooden pole, a half-heard footstep made her drop the pole. Startled, she knelt on the floor head bowed, mentally preparing herself for the beating she would receive. She expected it to be severe, the worst she had had in a long time._

_One by one, the footsteps drew nearer, stopping in front of her. There was a metallic_ clink _as something hit the floor in front of her, then the footsteps moved away from her, fading into the night._

_She knelt there for an uncountable eternity, then raised her head slowly, fearing a delayed punishment. There on the floor in front of her was her ring on a leather thong. Someone had taken it from its hiding place, put it on a thong, and then returned it to her._

_After that, she kept it around her neck._

_Eventually, she was called to the head monk's office to find her father sitting there. Once again, she assumed the posture of waiting. "Weiss... stop playing this game. You're torturing yourself for no good reason. That nothing girl you disgraced yourself with? She's gone. I'm giving you one final chance: Leave with me now, or remain here forever."_

_She stood in silence, her father glaring at her. Finally, he growled, "Fine, stay here until you rot, then." As he turned to go, she said, "Wait. Let us take tea, then I shall leave with you." Weiss bowed and glanced at the head monk for permission, then poured tea for the three of them.  
_

_The last thing she did before leaving the monastery was to look the head monk in the eyes and whisper the words "I win." He nodded and smiled, a warm, wide smile that reached his eyes._

* * *

_When she returned to the palace, her life there was much different. Her schedule was much more regimented. She wasn't allowed out in public until her hair had regrown; speed of growth was carefully balanced with producing hair worthy of a princess._

_It took several attempts over months to find out what had happened to Ruby and her sister without attracting unwanted attention. Their father, Taiyang, had been convicted of treason and executed shortly after she'd arrived at the monastery. The sisters had fled for their lives; the only sanctuary they had been able to find had been to become_ outcast _, most likely becoming Corsairs._

_When Weiss learned the fate of the house of Xiao Long, she locked herself in her room for two full days, screaming and throwing things at anyone who disturbed her, then throwing herself down on her bed to weep uncontrollably. The only thing that had kept her going in the monastery had been the hope of being reunited with Ruby and now that was gone._

_By the evening of the second day, the only person who would still venture into her sight was Klein. He crept just to where she couldn't see him, then called out, "Your Highness, Weiss, is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?"_

_Weiss sat up, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, possibly ruining the expensive fabric, not that she really cared now. "She's gone, Klein. The only thing I came back for was to be with Ruby, and now she's gone."_

_Klein stepped into her bedroom, picking his way carefully around the debris, stopping a discreet arm's length from her, his face full of concern. "Surely we should still be able to reach her? Learn if she's at least doing well?"_

_Weiss sniffed. There were rumors, but_ _... "There might be, but I can't go myself. And anyone I send would risk execution if they're caught."_

_He stood a little straighter. "Your Highness, I have served your house for over forty years. I think I can safely say that putting you back in touch with your lady love would be the highest honor I can conceive. And if you don't send me, I'll go myself. I'd much rather have your blessing, and maybe a message from you for her, of course."_

_The next morning, Klein knelt waiting in the Hall of Ghosts. According to tradition, if someone was looking for a noble who had become_ outcast _, if they waited in the hall long enough, an_ outcast _would enter and ask who they wanted, and maybe pass a message to that_ outcast _. It was a long shot, but the only chance they had._

_After a time, an_ outcast _entered the hall, a blade of some sort at his side, stepping past an impatient-looking man who'd kept checking his scroll. "Now see here-" the man began, only to find the Corsair's blade at his throat. "Here and now, you're nothing and nobody, even less of a person than I am. I'll talk to whoever I want, in whatever order I want. But I'll do you a favor, and tell you to leave and not come back. Or you'll learn exactly how sharp a Corsair's blade is."_

_A Corsair! Klein's luck was better than he'd hoped; a Corsair might have better luck reaching Ruby Rose if indeed she had become a Corsair. The_ outcast _stopped in front of Klein. "You," the man whispered. "You dress like someone who waits on important people. Tell your master that if this truly is important, they can come themselves."_

_"My lady cannot come; she would risk death to do so. Indeed, if it is known I am here on her behalf, she may risk death even then. I certainly risk death if it became known she sent me." The Corsair laughed, the sort of dry laugh you might expect of someone facing execution. "You amuse me, servant. Come, let us discuss what your lady wants. If nothing else, you've earned a drink for making me laugh."_

_The man led Klein through the dimly lit passageways of the Hall of Shadows, ending them up in a small, dimly lit chamber that held only a low table with two glasses and a bottle on Corsair sat on the floor to one side of the table, gesturing for Klein to sit opposite. "Sit, and tell me your story. Begin with your lady's name, I want to know who sent you," he finished, pouring into both glasses and handing one to Klein._

_Klein sipped politely, surprised by the quality of the liquor. "My lady is Princess Weiss Schnee. She seeks to find Ruby Rose, of the house of Xiao Long, They were once engaged."  
_

_The Corsair nodded. "Now I see what you mean by risking death. The daughter of a traitor is no-one the Emperor would want his daughter to be associated with." He sipped his drink before continuing. "And what message would you send to the outcast that stands in the place of Ruby Rose of the house of Xiao Long? Be aware that even if they can be reached, any reply is at their discretion. You may ever even know they got your message."_

" _My lady sends only this: I"m sorry; I didn't know. Can you forgive me?"_

" _Cryptic, but understandably so. Very well, I will see if Ruby Rose is indeed among the_ outcast _and if she wishes to reply. Return in one week; I may have news by then."_

" _Please, let me know as soon as there is a response."_

_The_ outcast _shook his head. "That's not how this works. You can come back every day if you like, but I wouldn't expect to get a response inside of a week."_

_A week later, Klein found himself again in the hall. This time a different_ outcast _stopped in front of him. "You have a response. Follow me."_

_Waiting in the room was a Corsair in a black-and-red uniform. "I bear Ruby Rose's response: What would you have me do? What is it that you wish?"_

_Klein thought for a moment before speaking. "My lady begs the forgiveness of Ruby Rose. She had no idea what her father's response would be to their engagement and wishes she could take it back, undo the harm that has been done, that they could be reunited once again, if only for a moment. If that is not possible, she begs whatever help Ruby Rose can give her in escaping the palace. Her father is about to force her into a marriage she does not want, to a man she cannot stand. Death would be preferable." Klein's composure broke as he finished. "Those are her words, exactly," he choked._

_The Corsair nodded. "I will carry your words to Ruby Rose. She may wish to help your lady, she may not. I make no guarantees."_

* * *

And that's when we started planning my escape," Weiss finished as she reached for the bottle to fill her glass again, only to find it empty.

"Lord and lady, you went through hell," Blake muttered, tossing back the remainder of her glass. "I'm kinda impressed you're still sane."

Weiss shrugged. "It helped to disassociate myself from being there. The ring, what it represented, anchored me. But here I am now, and I still can't be with her." She sniffed. "I need another bottle."

"Nah, I think we're done here. Listen, you may get back together with Blossom, Ruby, whoever she is. But don't focus on that. You've got a whole new life to build here, work on that. And I think I know just the way to do it."

* * *

Dragon was in her office, working out the training schedules for the marines for the next month. She liked being in charge of the teams, really she did, but sometimes the paperwork part of it really drove her up the wall. To make matters worse, the teams were understrength at the moment, so they were working up a bunch of scrubs to bring the teams back up to strength.

All of which meant longer working days and less time with Blake. She sighed and made a mental note to bug her sister about their next stationfall. They hadn't made port and given the crew liberty since before they picked up Heron, and it was starting to show. Crew fatigue, sick calls, fighting, all were up.

Her console chimed."Dragon," she snapped, cursing herself almost instantly for letting her irritation show in her voice.

"Ma'am, I think you need to come get your wife."

"Life-" she started to correct the caller, then paused. "Why? And who is this?"

"Neptune, down in the cantina. And her and that new girl, can't remember her name, they're fighting every marine in the place."

"So I've got to come save them," Dragon groaned, reaching for her mask.

"More the other way around..."

When Dragon reached the cantina, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Blake and Heron stood in the middle of a ring of broken tables and unconscious or groaning marines. More were circling the pair warily. "Alright, what the hells is going on here?"

"She started it," muttered one guy as he picked himself off the floor, gesturing at Heron.

"Somebody grabbed my ass!" Heron muttered darkly as Dragon marched through the devastation.

"And naturally, not knowing who did it, you picked a fight with the whole table."

"No, she demanded that whoever did it own up so she could kick their ass," Blake muttered as she held her nose to stop the bleeding. "Which they declined to do, so _then_ she picked a fight with the biggest goon at the table and things kinda went from there."

"Alright, everybody stand down. You're all on report, and this is going to go up to the captain. Even you, my love. Can't go easy on you, even if you are the hottest piece of ass aboard."

"I will beg to differ, I say she's the _second_ hottest," Heron chirped, then hiccuped.

Dragon sniffed as she stepped near Heron. "Then who-you know what, I don't want to finish that thought, all things considered. And you are drunk."

"No, we've been drinking. Somebody told her about two glasses and a bottle, and she came looking for me." Blake was looking decidedly crestfallen right now.

"I think I'd just better call the captain now." Dragon reached for her scroll. This sort of mess was definitely above her pay grade.


	6. Chapter 6

" _So let me make sure I'm absolutely crystal clear on this..."_

Since the beginning of time, crewmen have instinctively known that it is a Bad Thing to come to the attention of the captain of a ship. More so if you have their _undivided_ attention. Captain Crimson Blossom, of the Corsair heavy cruiser _Crescent Rose_ , had been _asleep_ when she'd been called about the fight in the cantina. So everyone involved knew they were well and truly screwed, blued, and tattooed.

And just in case some of them were hadn't _quite_ got the message quite yet, the captain had taken the time to get fully dressed before coming down. So her boots were making little tinkling crunching sounds as she walked back and forth through the broken glass up and down the line of miscreants.

"You" the captain's finger found White Heron, "heard there was bad blood between you and her," this time the finger found Blake, " so you found a bottle and a couple of glasses to talk things out. Finishing the bottle, and not yet done talking, you came to the cantina to find another bottle. Where one of you four," her masked gaze fell upon a quartet of marines who looked as if they'd attended a giants' soccer match as the _balls_ , "decided to grab Heron's ass. Heron objected, and demanded whoever did it apologize. You refused. So Heron decided to kick all four of your asses, just to make sure she got whoever grabbed her. The rest of you," Blossom stared down the line at the remainder of the marines, "had the poor judgment to jump in when you saw your fellow marines getting clobbered."

"Yes, ma'am," Heron snapped; this was one point of military protocol she was fairly sure on.

"Fine. You four," Blossom gestured at the original four marines, "are in some deep shit. You're confined to quarters for the next week, and next time we make port, you will not be granted liberty. Plus I'm pretty sure Golden Dragon is going to be finding some _choice_ assignments for you, regardless of the fact that one of the people you jumped was her lifepartner." Dragon growled in the back of her throat, low and full of menace. She expected better of her marines than this. "Grabbing someone like that is Not Tolerated aboard this ship or any other Corsair vessel. As for the remaining marines, I think confining them to quarters for the next three days will suffice. Frankly, you're lucky."

Blossom's voice dropped low and mean. "You're lucky, that is, that these two," she gestured at Blake and Heron, "weren't trying to kill you. She," pointing at Blake, "is a former pirate, White Fang Clan. They don't like prisoners or witnesses; feel free to do the math on that one. And she," jabbing at Heron, "attended one of the top combat schools in the Empire, graduating second in her class. Behind _Pyrrha Nikos._ " The marines gulped, glancing sideways at Heron. Pyrrha Nikos was still a name to conjure with in the Empire. "Frankly, she's one of three, maybe four people aboard that could give me and Dragon a real workout. She might even land a hit.

"Now as for the two of you," and Blossom stopped right in front of Blake and Heron, "I can actually understand your actions. Nobody likes it when somebody gets handsy. But I can't let you off too easy either. Neptune," Blossom turned her head towards the man who ran the cantina, "I hear you need dishwashers and servers."

"As always, captain."

"Good. I think you've got a new dishwasher and server a couple hours a day for, let's say a week; it'll give Heron a chance to get to know some more of the crew."

Heron stifled a groan. Was Blossom really going to do this? She didn't want to get to know anyone or hang out with them, the only people she really cared about on the ship were Blossom and Dragon. It must have shown because Blossom stopped, tilting her head to regard Heron. "Problem?"

"No, ma'am."

"Good. Now I will excuse the two of you from the working party to clean up this mess; I believe we have enough marines handy for this and you really were the injured parties here. Dismissed; go clean yourselves up."

Heron let go the groan she'd been stifling as she and Blake slouched down the corridor. "Don't complain; she really did let us off easy. But the captain gets really pissed about harassment; one day I'll tell you she did to the supply clerk who was withholding gear from scrubs who didn't 'please' him."

"It's not that. I just started pilot training, remember? Now I have to put that on hold for the next week."

Blake stopped, confusion on her face, then comprehension dawned and she chuckled. "I think you've got that wrong. Working in the cantina isn't in place of our regular duties, it's in addition to them. We just got assigned extra duty."

* * *

A month later, Heron and Blake were sparring in one of the ship's exercise areas. Simple staff-fighting, not going full-tilt, just working their way through forms. "So you still working n the cantina?" Blake grunted as she blocked an overhand strike.

"Gives me something to do, lets me meet more of the crew." Heron jerked back from Blake's comeback. "Sun's been helping out more lately; he and Neptune even had a date when we made port."

Blake stopped dead in shock for a moment, then brought her staff around sloppily to block Heron's strike. "Wait, Sun and _Neptune_? When did that happen? I thought Sun wasn't into guys."

"Neptune's been nursing a crush for a while. He was mooning over Sun one night, not keeping up with orders, so I told him to get on with it or get over it, either way, get cooking. Sun's next order came with a free side of date. Guess it went well; they're still talking."

"People hooking up all over this ship; I used to think I ran a respectable band of rapscallions." Heron and Blake paused to find Blossom standing safely out of the way, twirling her own fighting staff. "Mind if I cut in?"

Heron bowed and made to step out of the way. "With your permission, Captain."

"Nu-uh. I don't want to fight Blake; I want to fight _you_." Blossom poked Heron in the chest, smirking under her half-mask. "Seems my comment about your fighting skills had wings, and people want to know just how good you are. So you're my new favorite sparring partner. Congratulations; Blake and my sister thank you."

Heron rolled her eyes as she squared up in front of Blossom. This was the first time she'd seen her out of uniform up close since coming aboard, and the years had been good to Blossom, at least physically. Ruby had been toned and fit when Weiss knew her, and Heron could see that Blossom had put on even more muscle, as well as, um, _rounding out_ in a few places. The tank top and shorts the captain wore left little to the imagination, and Heron could see what looked like the engagement ring Heron had given her so long ago on a chain around Blossom's neck, just like Thyla had said. "That outfit isn't fighting fair," Heron muttered as the two of them started sparring.

"Problem?" Blossom smirked as she went for a low strike at Heron's ankles.

"None, ma'am. Just more incentive to knock you on your ass."

Blossom laughed as she parried a stroke from Heron, coming around Heron's staff to try and get a hit in, Heron jerking out of the way. "You knock me on my ass, name your reward. I'm a lot better than I was before."

"Doubt that," Heron faked high, then came in low, Blossom barely blocking it. "Too much time sitting in your chair on the command deck while the rest of us work for a living."

"Now that's low, real low. Fine, no more nice Captain." The two of them picked up speed, falling into a rhythm of strike, counterstrike, block, dodge, leaving little breath to talk. Heron barely noticed the crowd formed, money changing hands. "Looks like we've got an audience, " Blossom muttered as they paused for a moment, staffs pressing against each other, faces inches apart.

"Wonder where the smart money is; I could use some extra cash to take you out to dinner."

'Dinner? You haven't even asked me out yet," Blossom laughed as they pulled back from each other, circling.

"You said name my reward; dinner somewhere besides the cantina sounds nice."

Blossom shook her head. "Getting ideas, are we? Fine, but if I win you're wearing a skirt on duty for the next week. A _short_ skirt." The crowd laughed at the byplay, earning a glare from Blossom and Heron. Heron struck first afterward, a waist-height blow she didn't really intend to connect, just let Blossom know she meant business.

Dragon pushed her way through the crowd to Blake, then whistled as she watched her sister and Heron going at it. "Damn, they're really working it. How long have they been going at it?"

"Half an hour. They've even got a bet going. Heron wins, she gets a date. Captain wins, Heron wears a short skirt for a week."

"She does have nice legs-ow!" Dragon yelped as Blake elbowed her in the ribs. "Hey, you know I love you babe, nothing wrong with checking out the scenery." Blake shot Dragon a quick glare before turning back to the fight.

She was enjoying watching the fight, honestly. Blossom was one of the best fighters aboard, and there weren't a lot of people aboard that could hold their own against her. Heron lasting this long was a testament to both her skill and endurance.

"Captain to the bridge," came over the intercom, and Blossom looked up reflexively. She only took her eyes off Heron for a fraction of a second, but that fraction of a second was all Heron needed. She came in low, hooking Blossom's foot and knocking her flat on the mat. Blossom looked up to see the end of Heron's staff inches from her face. "That was fighting dirty," Blossom grumbled as Heron reached down and pulled Blossom to her feet.

"Think the universe cares if you're distracted?" Heron laughed out as Blossom stepped over to the intercom, echoing the words Blossom had used during her first test.

Flipping Heron a rude gesture, Blossom picked up the handset and keyed the intercom. "Captain, bridge."

"Captain, we've got a distress call from the Brightstar mining platform. They're under attack by pirates and being boarded." Ironwood's voice was level and calm, but she could hear that odd tone of tension his voice always took from impending action.

"What have the pirates got?"

"Distress calls says cruiser and some sort of transport launching shuttles."

"Make ready for a hyper jump to their location. Sound general quarters."

"Already bringing up the drive. Ten minutes to jump, then thirty minutes in hyperspace to their location."

As the crowd watching their bout scattered to their battle stations, Blossom called out, "Heron, a word."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Are you on combat flight status yet? I know you still haven't finished your training."

"Yes, Captain. Corrin notified me yesterday." Was Blossom keeping tabs on Heron's training? Her heart skipped a beat, but then she schooled herself. It didn't mean anything, not really.

Blossom took a quick look around, then pitched her voice so it wouldn't carry. "This will be your first combat mission then. Try not to die out there. I owe you a date out after all, and I hate owing the dead." She lowered her mask for a moment, silver eyes looking at Heron. "Come back to me, Weiss. I... I know I've been hard on you, but I had to be."

"Just because fighters are expendable assets doesn't mean we don't want to come home." Heron pulled her own mask down, wanting Ruby to see her face one more time, just in case. "Don't worry about me, worry about making sure I have a home to come back to." She looked around, seeing past the bulkheads of the training room to take in the whole ship. "This crew, this ship, I know I haven't been here but a few months, but they've become home, family to me, more so than anywhere I've ever been."

* * *

Heron found herself resorting to meditating as she sat in the cockpit of her Scimitar. Nothing, no amount of training, be it in the simulator or stick time in an actual fighter, could prepare her for this. In a few minutes the _Crescent Rose_ would leave hyperspace, the catapult her fighter sat on would eject her from the launch bay, and she would find herself in a literal fight for her life.

"Hey, rookie, you okay over there? It's okay to be nervous the first time." This came from Yerk, the pilot of Wyvern Four.

"Yerk, I wouldn't want to fly with somebody that wasn't nervous every time they climb into a fighter," Corrin drawled. "The only people that aren't scared going into a dogfight are the crazy, stupid, drunk, and dead, none of which I want flying with me."

Heron laughed. "Then none of us are fit to fly because I'm pretty sure we have to be crazy to do this." This drew a round of dry chuckles from everyone.

"Seriously, Heron, just relax and concentrate on not dying, your first time out. Stay sharp, and watch your scope. You've trained for this; it's just another day."

The alarm sounded, and _Crescent Rose_ dropped out of hyperspace, the catapults launching the fighters into space almost before the pilots' stomachs had settled from translation.

* * *

On the bridge, Crimson Blossom swore under her breath in several languages. The mining platform had misidentified their attacker; the ship attacking them wasn't a cruiser, it was a fucking battlecruiser! Larger and more heavily armed and armed than any cruiser, even a heavy cruiser like _Crescent Rose._

"She looks to be a modified _Katana_ -class battlecruiser. We have the edge in speed, maneuverability, and missile armament, but she can take a beating. Helm, keeps us outside the range of a standard _Katana_ 's energy weapon range; this is going to be a dance, not a slugging match." She gestured at the transport ship lurking near the mining platform. "And get the fighters after that transport; make sure they keep well clear of our dance partner."

"She outweighs and outguns us, Captain. And she might have upgraded guns; the _Katanas_ are almost eighty years old," Ironwood remarked from his post in CIC.

"Can't be helped. If I'd known it was this big, I'd have called for help before jumping in, but we're stuck now. By the time help could arrive, this will be over. And I don't plan on dying today; I've got a date."

* * *

Wyvern and Drake squadrons formed up, swinging wide around the pirate battlecruiser, the Coyote fighter-bombers coming up behind them. Heron spared a moment to glance at the mini tactical plot on her HUD; that pirate _Katana_ was pretty big. All she could do was pray that _Crescent Rose_ could handle it.

She blinked; the pirate ship had just spawned a wave of new contacts, headed towards the Corsair fighters. Too big and slow to be missiles, they had to be...

"Fighters," Corrin growled. "Why didn't they launch them before? And I don't want to think what they did to that _Katana's_ innards to pack in that many birds. Keep chasing that transport everyone; if nothing else it'll get us further from that battlecruiser. But at least there's some good news out of this."

"If there is, I'd like to hear it," one of the pilots from Drake squadron lamented.

"All those fighters coming at us means less trouble for the Captain."

The Corsair fighters raced through space, buying distance from the battlecruiser and time to get an idea of what they were up against. Heron tried not to be sick. Over thirty fighters, more than double the normal complement of a _Katana_ -class battlecruiser. Someone had tried to turn it into a pocket carrier; Heron hoped that they'd done as good a job as the work on her Scimitar.

* * *

Dragon was drumming her fingers as she watched the miniature version of the tactical plot in the marine ready room. This was going to be a stone-cold bitch of a fight. The _Katana_ may have sacrificed a good part of her armament to get in those fighters, but she hadn't lost any of her defenses. Blossom was having to use every inch of _Crescent Rose_ 's maneuverability and missile advantage, orbiting the larger vessel, darting in to fire a heavy salvo, then flashing away again. In and out, over and over, varying speed and direction just so to keep the pirate captain guessing.

Dragon wished more than anything that she could be the one standing at her sister's side, the two of them working together to wield the _Crescent Rose_ like her sister had once wielded its namesake. But this was her sister's battle; Dragon had tried her hand at ship command and wasn't ashamed to admit that she'd found herself lacking. Plus it hadn't really interested her anyway, too cerebral, too slow for her. Give her an enemy she could see with her own eyes any day.

A hand slid on top of hers, stilling her hand with its very presence. "Easy, Dragon. We'll get our turn yet. That transport has to have dropped its boarding parties before we arrived. Just have to let your sister work her magic. When's the last time she lost an even fight?"

"Yeah, I know." Still, Dragon worried. Blossom had only been commanding _Crescent Rose_ for just over a year; sooner or later her sister had to loose, right? Simple chance meant the dice had to come up snake eyes sometime.

She spared a glance for the Corsair fighters bearing down on the transport and the pirate fighters bearing down on them in turn. Physics had favored the Corsair fighters, giving them a lead large enough they'd reach the transport before the pirate fighters caught up with them; now it was up to Corrin to capitalize on it. Dragon's lips moved in a silent prayer to gods she wasn't really certain she still believed in to look after the Corsair fighters and one of them in particular.

* * *

"On my mark... _execute_."

Corsairs never truly think themselves outmatched by anyone, no matter the odds. This was partly cultural and partly a well-earned reputation, but mostly it was practice and drill upon practice and drill. Most of the leaders of the original band of Corsairs were ex-Imperial Navy, and they'd carried the Navy's tradition of excellence across. So Corsairs trained until they couldn't see or think straight, until the dance and weave of combat became reflex.

The Corsair formation broke apart, each fighter tracing a separate arcing path around the transport, curving over it to come back at the pirate fighters with all the slow surety of an avalanche. They closed on the disorganized pirate formation, barely bothering to evade when the pirates started launching missiles at maximum range.

"Goddamm, pirates are dumb," Yerk laughed. "See, rookie, they're trying to rattle us, make us break formation, maybe let them get a lucky hit. Don't realize we fly like this because it works."

"Don't write them off yet, Wyvern Four," Corrin chuckled. "I've seen a pirate or two that's an even match for a Corsair, one-on-one. But yeah, overall pirates suck. Glory hounds, each trying to outdo the other. Speaking of which, it's about time to send some of them to explain themselves to the Lord and Lady. Firewall, on my mark, _now_."

Heron's fighter shook slightly as she fired off two missiles one-two in a staggered launch. One of the 'upgrades' to her frankenfighter allowed it to fire two of its internally carried missiles at once, but fire plan Firewall didn't call for that. Instead, it called for a synchronized launch from all the fighters in the formation at once, a Banshee ECM missile leading the way, with a standard seeking missile hot in its wake. The idea was to keep the targets from seeing the second missile or doing much about it.

The Corsairs' united fire broke the rag-tag pirate formation apart, letting the Corsairs fall upon them like wolves attacking a herd of deer. Individually, a deer might stand a chance against a wolf, but against two or even three wolves, the deer is outmatched.

Heron flipped her fighter end-for-end, firing her guns at a pair of pirates that by accident or design had teamed up to try and take her from behind. She clipped one, sending it spinning away, and managed to make the other one break off. The pirates were using Oto fighters, more maneuverable than Scimitars in a vacuum, but useless in atmosphere. It almost made things a fair fight. Almost. This was a knife-fight in the dark, both sides using guns instead of missiles to avoid hitting friendlies, jammers on both sides making it hard to tell friend from foe.

The pirate transport was already out of the fight, a couple of the heavier missiles the Coyotes carried had disabled its engines with ease, leaving it adrift. Now fighters from both sides were ducking and weaving around it, using it as cover either to conceal their movement from their chosen target or to avoid being targeted themselves.

Heron tagged another pirate fighter with her guns, leaving it a cloud of rapidly cooling gas and debris, then looked around for another target only to find that the remaining handful of pirates had broken and fled toward their mothership. "Orders?"

Corrin paused, weighing the options. "Let me consult with the captain; I don't want to interrupt her dance with that pirate battlecruiser."

Heron nodded, her eyes on the miniature tactical plot in her HUD. Something about the positions of the two ships, the station, and a debris field gave her a notion. "I have an idea..."

Corrin was wincing as he spoke. Very few things were more dangerous than a newbie with an idea. "Let's hear it, rookie."

She outlined her plan, surprising Corrin by actually being decent. "Not the worst idea I've ever heard. We'll see if the captain bites. Meantime, everyone report status."

* * *

On the bridge of the _Crescent Rose_ , Blossom nodded. "Plan approved, Wyvern Actual. A little daring for you, I'm surprised."

"Thank your girlfriend, she cooked it up."

"Does _everyone_ know?" Blossom groaned, glad that she'd worn a full mask since they were going into combat.

"Sort of. Rumor mill says a lot of crazy things about this one. Wyvern Actual out."

Blossom shook her head to clear it, then turned to the EW officer. "Alright, let's make the best of our distraction. Tweak our ECM, start making it look like we're taking more damage than we actually are. Helm, coordinate reductions in speed and maneuvering with those hits; let's put a little blood in the water." Lastly, she turned to the ship's tactical officer. "Continue normal timed-rate fire with the starboard launchers only; be prepared on my mark to roll ship and go to rapid fire with the port launchers; empty the ready magazines as fast as you can. Make the warhead mix heavy on ECM birds."

"What are you thinking, Captain?" Ironwood asked.

"Once the _Katana_ notices our fighters, there'll be a window of opportunity while he tries to defend from both of us and decides which one to handle first." Blossom's face was a snarl beneath her mask. "And that's when I'm going to gut-stab the son-of-a-bitch."

* * *

"Here's the plan, everyone: We're going to loop around the station, using it to mask our movements, then come at the _Katana_ through the debris field, using it to mask our movements. It's Heron's idea, so she gets to call the strike. Your command, Wyvern Six."

Panic shoved an icicle down Heron's spine. Was Corrin giving her _command_? "O-okay," she stammered, making several people chuckle over the squadron net. "Form up on me to swing around the station, independent maneuvering through the debris field, then claw formation once we clear it. ECM _off_ until I give the word, we are on silent running, then ECM back up in banshee mode for everyone but the Coyotes. Coyotes, use your ECM to disguise yourselves as Scimitars until we hit the pirate battlecruiser, maybe we can play a bit of a shell game."

Corrin was nodding as she spoke, even though she couldn't see it. "You've been paying attention; good. What do we know about the debris field?"

"Uh..." Heron took a quick look at the sensor data being fed to them by _Crescent Rose_. "Looks to be a lot of rocks and junk. Should hide us okay."

"Alright, let's go." The Corsairs curled around the mining station, aiming into the debris field. Up close, it was a lot denser than it'd looked from the sensor data, a hodgepodge of small asteroids and discarded equipment from the mining platform, dumped out here to await eventual recycling or salvage.

Heron shivered as she rolled her fighter to avoid a drifting workpod with a shattered canopy. Thankfully it was unoccupied. A few more seconds and they should clear the debris. She ducked to avoid a drifting cluster of pressure vessels, then jerked again to get out of the way of one of the Coyotes.

They formed up in a claw formation, once they cleared the debris field, communicating with short burst transmissions to mask their presence, Heron taking the tail, or base of the claw. Normally this would be where something being escorted would ride; by taking it herself, she hoped to conceal the position of the Coyotes.

* * *

The sensor officer frowned, tapped a few quick commands into his console, then turned to the captain. "Ma'am, I have a possible contact on our fighters. It looks like they're using silent running, but I have them on thermal."

Blossom nodded, working out positions and velocities in her head. "Keep me updated on their position, and work to firm up that contact. Helm, come starboard ten degrees, up fifteen degrees, then stand by to engage as previously instructed."

* * *

Heron watched her mini tactical plot, trying to gauge the right time for the fighters to go full throttle and close the range. Perfect timing would be just before the _Katana_ realized they were there, letting them get to fighter weapons range while the battlecruiser was still adjusting to their presence. But the pirate ship knew they were there, didn't it? Was it keeping a closer eye on its sensors now?

In the end, it all came down to instinct. The pirate ship turned, exposing its aft aspect, even as it pursued the _Crescent Rose,_ which had slowed for some reason. "Now! Drop the hammer! _Corandar!_ " And with that the Corsair fighters went to full throttle, ECM wailing a siren song to conceal them from the enemy.

* * *

"Now! Roll the ship and _fire_!"

* * *

In many regards, there is no true 'up' or 'down' in space everything being relative to where you're at. Every tactics course since mankind first went to war space has taught this. Unfortunately, humans and Faunus evolved in an environment where up and down were mostly afterthoughts, so they tend not to look 'up' as often as they should in space. _Crescent Rose_ arced over the pirate battlecruiser, rolling to present its portside launchers even as the fighters made their mad dash to bring the pirate vessel into killing range.

_Crescent Rose_ spat a hurricane of fire at the _Katana_ , emptying the ready queue for the port launchers and swamping the pirate ship's defenses. Despite its heavy armor, the missiles inflicted deep wounds, staggering the pirate vessel. But the Corsairs weren't finished yet.

Then came the fighters' turn.

Like any warship, the pirate battlecruiser carried smaller weapons to defend from fighters and missiles. Even wounded, it was putting out an impressive volley of fire towards the Corsair fighters as it turned away from _Crescent Rose,_ possibly seeking escape.

Determined, the Corsair fighters dodged and wove as they closed, probing the battlecruiser's defenses for weaknesses. Heron swore as she rolled her fighter out of the way of a burst of plasma fire from a turret on the pirate ship. Another wasn't so lucky; "We're hit, we're hit, oh gods!" came over the squadron channel.

"Thyla? What are you doing out here?"

"Uh, the backseat guy for one of the Coyotes was in sickbay, so they grabbed me because I'm a qualified shuttle pilot and I sometimes do fighter sims. But the pilot's dead and I don't know what to do!"

"Relax, Thyla. What's your status, other than the pilot being dead?"

"P-Pretty good, overall. I've got flight control, my life support's still working, and I have most of my missiles."

"Okay, I know you haven't trained for this, but relax. It's my first day too." Heron looked around, trying to decide how to help her friend. "Okay, here's what I want you to do: Get around behind the pirates, and unload a couple of missiles in their ass. Taking out their engines slows them down, makes it easier for the captain. And remember, don't fly in straight lines; you've got to dodge and weave."

"Dodge and weave, right. Thanks."

Heron broke off, turning under the pirate vessel to chase after one of the remaining pirate fighters, which had apparently decided to make a stand here. That's when it caught her eye.

It's been said that whoever makes the last mistake loses, and someone on the pirate battlecruiser had made a possibly fatal mistake. Normally once a vessel enters combat, it closes off its flight deck with armored shutters, not relying on the semi-permeable forcefields to protect it. Unfortunately in expanding the flight deck to accommodate more fighters, whoever had converted the _Katana_ into a carrier hadn't added more launch bays. This meant most of the ship's fighters had to come and go from the flight deck, and the flight deck itself had to stay open. What had caught Heron's attention was a damaged pirate fighter skidding into a landing on the wide-open flight deck.

She felt a moment of pity for what she was about to do, but only a moment. "Hey Thyla, swing around here. I think I've got a nice soft spot for you." Heron turned her fighter in place, firing a pair of missiles as she came to bear.

The missiles flew straight through the forcefield, impacting on the far wall, causing a chain reaction that engulfed the entire flight deck in fire, blowing through internal bulkheads and leaving the pirate vessel venting atmosphere.

Heron gave out a whoop of victory, then swore as her fighter lost all power. She hit the reset button trying to reboot its systems but to no avail. "Dutchman, Dutchman, Dutchman, Wyvern six is calling a Dutchman, I say again, Dutchman, Dutchman, Dutchman."

On the bridge of the _Crescent Rose,_ Blossom blinked. _Somebody_ had hit something delicate; she could see escape pods fleeing the battlecruiser on the tactical plot as the ship staggered, obviously out of control. She gestured to the comm officer, who gave her an open channel. "Attention pirates, it looks like I control the only flight deck around here now. If you want us to pick you up, kill your engines and surrender. Otherwise, feel free to keep shooting at us. We'll be glad for the target practice."

* * *

Blossom was waiting when the search and rescue shuttle landed with Heron aboard. "Did you take a hit?" Blossom asked as Heron stepped off the shuttle, fuming.

"No, the goddamn frankenfighter lost power. Speaking of which," Heron walked over to where her fighter was being unloaded and gave it a kick. "Stupid cobbled-together piece of junk! I feel better. So what brings the captain of our fine vessel down to the flight deck?"

"Well..." Blossom looked down at her feet, embarrassed. "Apparently somebody noticed you and me talking while you were working at the cantina, and now half the ship thinks we're sleeping together on the sly. The other half doesn't care."

"So much for maintaining a proper distance, " Heron muttered. "I suppose it would still be dreadfully inappropriate for me to kiss you?"

"For a trainee to kiss the captain, yes. The captain's girlfriend can kiss her any damn time she wants!" And with that, Blossom pulled Heron into her arms and kissed her.

Surprised, Heron leaned into Blossom, enjoying her closeness, her warmth, the scent of her, oh-so-familiar and yet so very different as well. _Lord and Lady, I missed this._ When they pulled apart, she looked at Blossom, wondering what Ruby's eyes held under the mask. "So, are we back together again?"

In response, Blossom held up her left hand, where she once again wore her engagement ring. "I don't think we were ever apart, not really. And you've certainly found your place here."

Heron pulled out the ring from around her own neck and started to put it on, but Blossom laid a hand on top of hers. "We never did get an inscription for yours, did we? I think I know what to put there now. _Corandar_ suits us perfectly, I think. And it'll make a good ship's motto, which we currently lack."

_Coronadar_ was an Old Atlesian word. Translated literally, it meant "fight or die," but it was more than that. It indicated a situation where the only hope laid in fighting for one's life, or all one valued would be lost, and was the traditional battle cry of the House of Schnee. " _Corandar_ ," Heron whispered.

"Now, on to official business," Blossom stepped back, falling into parade rest and looking over at Corrin, who stood nearby with a bemused expression on his face. "Flight commander Corrin, do feel that White Heron needs further training at this time, or has she qualified for her rate?"

"At this time, having seen White Heron in action as a pilot, I feel she is fully qualified as a pilot. She needs more experience, but that will come with time. Her plan, while risky, was bold and well executed. She's no scrub anymore, and I think I need to be afraid for my job."

"Not for a long time, old friend." A shuttle landed at the far end of the flight deck and Blossom grinned. She was looking forward to this. "Heron, with me." She strode confidently to meet the shuttle, Blossom following along behind.

When the boarding ramp lowered, a man wearing a gaudy uniform stood there in manacles. "And you are?" the man sneered, defying the marines standing behind him with weapons drawn.

"Captain Crimson Blossom, of the Corsair heavy cruiser _Crescent Rose._ I wanted to meet you before we hand you over to the Imperial Navy. The pilot behind me is White Heron. Today was her first day as a combat pilot, and she commanded the strike that crippled your vessel. Just something to think about before we hand you over to the navy."

The man scowled, and Blossom gestured for the marines to haul him off.

"So about that date..." Blossom began, looking embarrassed once again.

"First, I need a dress. I am _not_ going out on a date with my fiancee in a flight suit if I can help it, and I doubt a mining station will have a suitable shop. Second, I think we've both got post-battle chores to take care of, yours more harrowing than mine, I'm sure, although I'm certain that Corrin has a few things to say about my combat performance. But yes, a date, soon."


	7. Chapter 7

Hours after the battle was over, Heron found herself laying on in her new rack, staring at the bottom of the rack above hers. Since she'd earned her rating as a fighter pilot, she'd had to move to 'pilot country,' a set of compartments closer to the flight deck, making it quicker to get to the flight deck if everything went to hell in a hurry. Right now Heron didn't really care much where she slept, as long as she got to pass out before too long. Flying a fighter in combat was _exhausting_.

"Hey, hey, hey, I hear there's a scrub in pilot country that thinks she's a fighter pilot now." Dragon stood just inside the hatch to Heron's berthing compartment, hands on her hips and a cheesy grin on her lips.

Rolling out of her rack and onto her feet, Heron scowled at Dragon. "Unlike the marines, the pilots had to earn our pay today, so I'm a little too exhausted to be nice right now. So what. Do. You. _Want_?"

"Easy, Heron." Dragon leaned up against the bulkhead, folding her arms. "Sorry, didn't realize how tired you were. Listen, I heard about you and sis kissing down on the flight deck. So, are you two back together, or what?"

"Things are... getting better. Still, stuff to work out, though. Like where personal stops and professional starts. Or if it's okay for me to stay in her cabin. Though I'm pretty sure making out with her on the bridge is probably a bad idea," Heron added, giggling a little.

Dragon facepalmed, a plaintive tone in her voice. "I did _not_ need that mental image, Heron. Still my baby sis, alright?"

"I will remind you that your 'baby sis' as you put it is captain of a Corsair cruiser, the youngest such in Corsair history, oh, and your commanding officer and mine." She fidgeted a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. Disgraceful habit, her father always hated it. Oh, wait, that didn't matter anymore. The thought made her expression brighten. "Think she'll go easy on me next time I get in trouble?"

"No chance," Dragon chuckled, shaking her head. "If she handles you like she handles me or Blake, she'll let Ironwood handle the problem, then probably sign off on what he decides. This isn't the first Corsair ship to have a screwy command structure. General rule is unless it's a problem, there's no problem. If there's a problem, handle it or the Council will. There's a reason captains don't pick their XO."

"They don't?"

"Nope, the council assigns them, but usually the ship's captain gets to provide a list of their top picks. Blossom didn't get a choice; the council said if she wanted to keep _Crescent Rose_ , Ironwood was going to be her XO, no argument. In a way, the XO is the council's eyes and voice aboard a Corsair vessel," Dragon finished in a thoughtful tone. "Ironwood even has the legal right to relieve sis of command, if he feels she's doing something magnificently stupid."

"Which means they know about me," Heron sighed. Today was a day of ups and downs for sure.

"Probably, but no use worrying about them." Dragon shrugged. "They're going to do what they're going to do, and what they know and what they have to officially take notice of are two different things. Come on; there's a reason I came to find you."

Dragon led Heron on a wandering path through the ship, through maintenance bays, the galley, even a shower at one point. Finally, Heron grabbed Dragon's arm. "Dragon, stop trying to get me lost. I've been aboard a couple of months, so I don't know every bulkhead by touch like some people seem to, but I'm pretty sure I know where we are."

"Then where are we?"

Heron looked around. "We're..." Her voice trailed off. "We're standing outside Blossom's cabin," she finished in a whisper.

"Not Blossom's, Ruby's," Dragon gently corrected her in the same tone. "Some of us put on a different sort of mask when than others, and my baby sis puts a mask on her heart when we go into battle. She's a tough, capable captain, in and out of battle, but underneath, she's the same caring, gentle, girl you fell in love with. And right now, after she's taken care of the duties of a captain after a battle, she's in there crying for the dead, ours and the pirates'. That's what makes the crew love her so much. They'd charge the gates of any hell you care to name carrying a bucket of ice water for her because they know she'd be leading the charge." Dragon laid a hand on Heron's shoulder. "And right now, she could use a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it's me, sometimes it's Blake, once it was Ironwood, but this time I think it should be you."

Heron reached for the hatch, her hand stopping in midair. "I... don't know how to do this."

"You'll find a way."

Heron stepped hesitantly through the hatch to find the captain's office dark and empty, the only light coming from the standby lights on the desk terminal. "Ruby?" she whispered, afraid of disturbing the silence more than she had to.

A muffled sob came from the sleeping cabin. She found Ruby collapsed on the bed, still wearing her uniform, mask discarded on the floor. Heron smiled sadly. It was just like Dragon had said; Blossom didn't need Heron right now, Ruby needed Weiss. She picked up Blossom's mask and set it on the nightstand next to the bed, then placed her own half-mask next to it. Weiss laid next down to Ruby, then laid an arm over her once and now again love, gently as she could manage like she was comforting a wounded animal. "Sssh, it's okay, I'm here."

"You shouldn't be, though. You should be home, safe, in your palace."

"But I'm here, with you. Ruby, I _chose_ this life, even without being sure I would have you again. I chose a life of struggle and strife over a life of comfort and wealth because that made it _my_ life, one I made myself, with my own choices and the consequences of them. When I left my father, I could have taken the rest of my money and gone anywhere. But I knew that the one thing I had to do first was to see you. Anything else could wait."

"But-"

"I'm not finished. Ruby, I haven't been part of this crew for long, but one thing I have learned is that this crew doesn't just obey your commands, they trust your judgment. They know that when we go into battle, you're going to look after us to the best of our ability, period. That every person we loose cuts you to the bone. I bet you've already read the casualty report, twice, and probably done at least at least some of the paperwork."

"F-fourteen. We lost fourteen people today. I've filed the standard death notifications; some warrant letters from me."

"Including a pilot from Drake squadron, Rhone." Weiss drew Ruby closer to her, pulling her into her arms. "Listen to me: If we had lost today, what do you think the pirate captain would be doing right now? I bet he'd be counting his loot and figuring out how to fence it. If he gave any thought to the crew that died under his command, it'd be to have his XO send their personal effects to their relatives. But you take this burden on yourself because to you, your crew is your family and you want to look after them even as you put them in danger.

"But here's the thing: Everyone on this crew trusts you. I climbed into that fighter knowing that I could trust the people flying with me, that they had my back. Same goes for you and the rest of the crew. We are a _team_ , Ruby Rose, Crimson Blossom, whoever the hell you are. And it is not weakness to mourn the dead or regret the pirates we killed today. I don't know how many people I killed when I fired my missiles into their flight deck, but I don't regret doing it even though I regret their deaths."

"But..." Ruby paused, her mind off track. "You fired missiles into their flight deck? How the hell?"

"They didn't have the shutters closed, so I tossed a couple of missiles in. Blew everything to hell. It was a real pretty explosion to watch as my fighter lost power."

"Goddammnfrankenstienpieceofjunk," Ruby swore, all in a rush, "I wish I'd never bought it. My heart skipped a beat when I heard your dutchman call come in."

"Stop that. You didn't know how wonky it was. The point is, feeling remorse is human, but you can't let it burden you. And from now on, I'll be here to help you handle it if you want. Now rest."

* * *

Ruby stirred at the chime from the terminal in her office. Unlike a lot of captains, she didn't keep a regular yeoman, she hadn't felt the need yet, but she was starting to see why. Managing the floating five-ring circus (complete with sideshow!) that was _Crescent Rose_ was a headache, even with Ironwood's help. She sat up, only to stop short as her elbow bumped into someone. _Who...? Oh, Weiss._ Something she was going to get used to again she supposed. The console chimed again, and Ruby swore under her breath as she sat up, careful not to disturb Weiss. She gazed down at Weiss's sleeping face, taking a moment to brush her hair out of the way; Weiss hated waking up with her hair in her face. At the console's fourth chime, Ruby stomped over to the console, thumbing the audio-only key. "Blossom," she snapped."

It was Ironwood on the channel. "My apologies, Captain. I didn't want to interrupt your personal time, but I've just gotten off the channel with the Brightstar representative. Since the pirate ship, captain, and some of the crew have bounties on them, he's trying to argue for reduced compensation. And they want our repairs done in one of their shipyards."

A low growl rose in Blossom's throat. "Tell them that if they try to give us one Lien less than what we are due, it will be reflected in my report to the Captain's council, and maybe next time one of their stations is under attack, a Corsair ship might not be so quick to respond, if at all. Bounties are paid by the Empire and are in addition to compensation due to us from them. If they get really shitty about it, feel free to point out that _Crescent Rose_ is a heavy cruiser and more than capable of finishing the job the pirates started." Sitting down in the chair at her desk with a sigh, she continued. "Regarding the repairs, we will have our repairs done at a shipyard of our choosing, most likely Valiant Anchorage; that's the closest Corsair home port. If they wish, they can have a representative argue the cost of repairs with the shipyard management. Anything else?" Blossom's eyes rose towards the hatch to her sleeping cabin and she smiled. "Oh, and look into finding me a yeoman; I think I'm going to have less patience for doing my own paperwork in the future."

"You're feeling rather nasty this morning," Ironwood remarked.

"Brightstar's not my favorite people right now after they misidentified that battlecruiser yesterday. Make sure to mention that too."

"On another note..." Amusement crept into Ironwood's voice. "Corrin is looking for Heron, he thought you might know where she is. He didn't say way."

Bossom felt a blush rising on her cheeks. "I'll send her his way if I see her."

"Blossom..." Ironwood's voice took on a gentle tone. "There's nothing wrong with the two of you having a relationship aboard ship, even with you being the captain. Odder things have happened on Corsair ships before. One couple that went _outcast_ together, she ended up a captain with her husband serving under her, and eventually, he led a mutiny against her. That was interesting to sort out. But you are going to have to work some things out. If I may offer a suggestion? Next time, have Heron notify Corrin if she's spending the night with you."

"Good idea." Blossom looked up as Heron peered through the sleeping cabin hatch. "Ah, Heron's awake. I'll have her call Corrin now."

"Am I in trouble?" Weiss muttered as she bent down to kiss Ruby.

"A little. Ironwood passed the message that Corrin is looking for you. If it was really urgent, he would have used the intercom. He suggests letting Corrin know next time you plan on spending the night. Remember why the pilot's berthing compartment is near the flight deck."

* * *

In the end, Brightstar mining decided to send someone from the district office to negotiate with them. Heron's fighter was out of commission; the reason it had lost power in the battle was a power surge that had slagged most of the avionics, so Corrin put her into the shuttle pilot rotation to keep her busy.

And thus it was a week later Heron found herself piloting a shuttle loaded with Blossom, Ironwood, Dragon, the local Brightstar manager, someone from Brightstar's insurance company, and the guy from Brightstar's district office on an inspection tour of the damage to _Crescent Rose._

"As you can see, the damage, while not crippling, is extensive. We're going to have to replace significant portions of the armor. Plus there's frame damage underneath, six missile launchers, point defense clusters, the list is quite extensive, " Blossom was doing her best to be both firm and charming. Heron knew how pissed she was at Brightstar in general and their local management in specific, and made a note for extra backrubs tonight.

"Can't you just, I don't know, weld plates over the damage?" the local Brightstar weenie asked.

Before Blossom could answer, the man from the Brightstar district office spoke. "Unfortunately, no. A warship's hull is a much more complicated thing than, say, a freighter's hull. Welding laminate armor is a chancy process; if you're not doing it under emergency conditions, it's far better to replace than repair."

Blossom nodded. "That's correct. And Corsair vessels tend to see more combat than naval vessels, out here on the frontier. All too often, we're the only help available when pirate clans or other raiders strike; they seem to think we're less dangerous than the navy."

"That seems unwise of them, as you and your crew have ably demonstrated. I think you'll find that from now on, Corsair vessels will find Brightstar mining more accommodating, both with compensation and port visits. I will file a formal recommendation to that effect when I return to district headquarters. Now, before we return to the station, I have a request. Can I have a close look at the pirate vessel? I'd like to see what all the fuss is about." Blossom agreed, and Heron turned the shuttle towards the pirate derelict.

The man from the district office was visibly shaken. "Pardon my saying this, Captain Blossom, but that ship seems larger than yours, by a fair margin."

"It is." An edge crept into Blossom's voice. "Although the original Brightstar distress call identified it as a cruiser, the pirate vessel was a modified _Katana_ -class battlecruiser. _Crescent Rose_ is a heavy cruiser."

The local Brightstar rep sat up at this. "Would it be worth it to repair her and put her up for sale?"

"Doubtful. The internal damage doesn't show from this angle, but it's pretty extensive. Heron, take us around and give us a look at the flight deck."

From underneath, the charnel house the flight deck had become was clearly evident. "Lord and Lady," the local man whispered.

"Care to educate our guests, Heron?"

Heron turned on the floodlights, illuminating the destruction. "Gentlemen, this ship was converted to give it greater fighter capacity at the cost of its energy weapon armament. Unfortunately, when they did the conversion, they added more flight deck space but not extra launch bays. This meant that the flight deck had to remain open instead of being closed off during combat. Seeing this, I fired two missiles into the flight deck. The results are quite evident."

District man's eyes grew wide. "You did this with one fighter?"

"I was lucky enough to see the opportunity and quick enough to exploit it, sir."

"Please, call me Alec." Alec stepped just behind Heron's seat, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You must be a veteran pilot, to make a shot like that."

"Actually, this was my first dogfight.'

"A credit to Corsair training then. So, Heron, if you could, would you go back? Would you give up the life of an _outcast_ and a Corsair, be who you were before?"

"No." Heron's answer came without thought or hesitation. "I've left that life behind; it holds no appeal to me anymore."

"I envy you that, the ability to leave your old life behind and start anew."

"Sir, please don't distract our pilot. The area around the wreck has significant amounts of debris; she needs to keep an eye out," Blossom interrupted.

Heron dropped the shuttle into the bay just a touch harder than she should have. Alec had kept his distance on the flight back, but just barely, and he'd kept up a steady stream of questions and comments, trying to get Heron to talk to him. She'd kept her answers short and nonspecific to the point of being rude.

"So tell me, Heron, are you free for dinner tonight? I'm fairly certain I can find a restaurant that will be open, no matter the hour."

"I'm afraid I already have plans."

"Any chance I could persuade you to cancel them?"

"Dinner with my fiancee, so no."

"My loss, I'm sure."

After Rick had left, Blossom stepped behind Heron. "Dinner with your fiancee? Getting a bit ahead of things aren't we?"

"One, it's not too much of a stretch, and two, I'd rather have rancid combat rations with you than dinner with him in a five-star restaurant." She glanced around a moment, then stepped forward to give Blossom a quick kiss.

* * *

Finally, two weeks after the battle, they exited hyperspace near Valiant Anchorage. When the Corsairs had begun, the _INS Valiant_ had been one of the superdreadnaughts the _outcast_ had taken with them. Now it stood at the core of the sprawling and ever-expanding home port of the Corsairs. Heron and the other passed Corsairs stood in _Crescent Rose_ 's forward observation bay. When they docked at the anchorage, they'd be officially recognized as Corsairs and given their first Corsairs blades.

But that wasn't what worried Heron. Word had come from the captains' council. An Imperial representative had arrived, demanding to question Blossom about the kidnapping of Princess Weiss Schnee.

She sighed. In hindsight, it had been too much to hope that the Empire, and her father in specific, would just let her disappear. But Blossom, Dragon, and surprisingly Ironwood had been adamant: Weiss Schnee had become _outcast_ , taken up the path of the Corsair, and become White Heron. Legally the Empire and her father had no call on her anymore.

The ship docked, and Sun Wukong led the new Corsairs off the ship and into the docking bay. Standing there were Crimson Blossom, Stalwart Ironwood, and a Corsair woman she didn't recognize. "Welcome to Valiant Anchorage. I am Prescient Opal. You have chosen to become _outcast_ , and take up the path of the Corsair. But beyond that, you have worked to earn your place and the title of Corsair. Now you will be officially be awarded your rating, and your Corsair blades. Bear both of them well."

Heron stood in line, waiting her turn. Finally, Opal came to Heron. "White Heron, you have chosen to become a fighter pilot. You are your ship's eyes where it cannot see, claws beyond its reach, your captain's sword and shield in battle." Opal pinned Heron's rating on her uniform, then a second award, a black and red tear-shaped gem. "You are also being awarded the Black Tear, for direct actions against the enemy, including a plan that led to the destruction of a pirate vessel."

"Thyla, you are being awarded two ratings, first as a medic, and second as a shuttle pilot. You are also being awarded the Black Tear. Although yours isn't a combat rating, when called upon to do so, you climbed into the back seat of a Coyote fighter. You also kept fighting after your pilot was killed. Well done."

Afterwards, Opal led Blossom and Ironwood to her office. She frowned; Opal wasn't quite sure how Heron had gotten attached to her invitation, but Blossom and Ironwood both seemed to be accepting her presence. "Now, Captain Blossom, you've been told that the Empire has sent a representative who'd demanding you answer questions about the kidnapping of Princess Weiss Schnee. Since it was a sealed contract the council understands you can't discuss too many details. Nevertheless, I'm going to ask one question to which I expect a complete and honest answer, and I don't care what legal gymnastics you have to jump through to answer it, _where in the thousand hells is Princess Weiss Schnee, and what in the hells were you thinking taking on a kidnapping job like that?!_ "

Blossom gulped. She felt like a little girl being asked what had happened to the cookies her mother had spent all day baking. "Opal, I can't-"

"Bullshit," Opal spat. "Look sealed contract aside, we can't afford to antagonize the Empire too much. Yes, we're legally independent, but there's only so far we can push that. We have to answer these questions. So talk to me, we'll get the story straight and decide what you're going to say to the Imperial representative. Or the _Crescent Rose_ will go to the bottom of the repairs list and stay there"

Silence laid over the room like a death shroud. Maintaining a warship was hideously expensive proposition; even sitting in dock doing nothing, Blossom still had to pay the crew's wages, plus docking fees, general maintenance, the list went on. Finally, Heron spoke. "The captain can't talk about the contract since it's sealed, but the contracting party would be free to say whatever they like, correct?"

"Heron!" Blossom hissed, glancing at her.

"You're correct, White Heron. Would you be able to reach the contracting party for us?" Opal asked, looking at Heron with new eyes.

"Don't do this!" Again Blossom spoke, this time with a pleading tone in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I can't let you lose the _Crescent Rose,_ not over me. _Corandar,_ Captain, _corandar._ This is my battle, not yours." Heron reached up and pulled off her mask, revealing the face of Princess Weiss Schnee. "I was the contracting party for the kidnapping, and it was my decision to become _outcast_ and a Corsair afterward."

Opal froze, confusion on her face. It was the first time Blossom had seen the supremely perplexed woman at a loss. Then opal stepped behind her desk, reached into a drawer, pulled out a golden-brown bottle and some glasses, and sighed. "I hear a story behind this."

* * *

Blossom and Heron told their story in detail, going over it again from different angles, and Opal shook her head. "Okay, I understand the motivations behind what you did. The mistake you made, Blossom, was not consulting the council before the sealed contract came into play. Some people are going to be pissed about that, making things difficult for you going forward. You've already got enemies, given how you got your captaincy; this is going to aggravate that. Balancing that are the romantics, admittedly including myself, who are going to think this is wonderful and a great way to toss a massive 'fuck you' to the Empire in general and the Emperor specifically. To be honest, I think the only way this would have played out differently if you had consulted us in advance would be that you'd have more backing on the council, but _que sera, sera_. Now, with the princess's permission, I'd like to quietly brief select members of the council on the full story, and work out what your testimony to the Imperial representative will be."

In many respects, all captains of Corsair vessels were equal in rank, however, the Corsairs had realized early on that somebody had to be in charge as a whole. Thus a council of the most senior or respected captains was formed, to make decisions for the Corsair fleet as a whole was formed, with one member holding the rank of Fleet Admiral to command all Corsair vessels in time of war.

No Corsair Admiral had ever had to lead the fleet to war.

Lord Tergin Joral was waiting in the council chambers when Blossom and Ironwood arrived. "Finally! You will tell me where Princes Weiss is immediately!"

Fleet Admiral Barut stood, menace in his voice. "Lord Tergin, keep in mind that this hearing is a courtesy to you and the Empire. Captain Blossom is under no obligation to discuss the contract for or her actions as part of the kidnapping of Princess Weiss with you, even more so since it was a sealed contract. You will get some answers today, perhaps enough to satisfy your Imperial master. Be seated and remember that if you have a question, ask it of me. Otherwise, I can arrange a private tour of a nearby airlock for you." Barut's head turned just enough to one side to bring to attention the airlock next to the large window that took up one wall of the council chamber.

Tergin sat, glaring at everyone. He had little patience for Corsairs, considering them one step above the pirates they spent so much time countering. At least Corsairs stayed bought, usually. "Now, Captain Blossom, you accepted a contract for the kidnapping of Princess Weiss of the House of Schnee."

"Yes."

"Was Princess Weiss alive when you took her?"

"Alive and unharmed, as specified in the contract."

"I would hardly call being kidnapped unharmed!" Tergin spat.

Barut frowned. "Airlock, Tergin, airlock. I believe the captain meant physically unharmed, not mentally. Now, Captain, was the princess delivered as specified in the contract, again alive and unharmed?"

"The princess was delivered as specified in the contract, alive and unharmed. She suffered no physical harm before being delivered."

"Thank you. Do you know why the contracting party has not contacted the Empire for a ransom?"

"I do not wish to speculate as to their reasons for doing so."

"Thank you, Captain Blossom." Barut turned to Lord Joral. "Does this satisfy you, Lord Joral?"

"No, it most certainly does not! On the behalf of the Empire, I demand to know who had her kidnapped and where she is now!"

"Since it was a sealed contract, Captain Blossom is not free to disseminate either the identity of the contracting party or where the princess was delivered to, unfortunately. But perhaps Captain Blossom would be willing to pass a message to the contracting party, asking them to contact you?" Blossom considered that for a moment, then nodded, and Barut continued. "Do you think that might be satisfactory, Tergin?"

Lord Joral took a moment to compose himself before answering. "I think that might be satisfactory, given the situation, and I do appreciate the bind Captain Blossom is in. In fact, we would be willing to compensate her for passing this message, and possibly further messages in the future."

"I don't want to make any guarantees about messages beyond this one, Lord Joral. _Crescent Rose_ is a combat vessel of the Corsair fleet and thus must go where she is sent. In order to respect the sealed contract, I must communicate with the contracting party indirectly, which would be very difficult wile we are on our assigned patrol route. But we will be in dock for repairs for a while, so I think I can agree to one message. We will see about others in the future."

Tergin frowned at their evasiveness. The Empire should have brought these curs to heel decades ago. "Very well."

"Ass," Barut snarled after Lord Joral had left. Other members of the council muttered agreement, with one going so far as to suggest Joral should have viewed the proceedings from the airlock in the first place.

"Heron says she recognizes him, and yeah, he's pretty much a toad. Likes to fancy himself someone who handles 'difficult things' for the Emperor. Let's see how that lasts after this," Blossom chortled.

"No need to be nasty, Captain, even if he does seem to deserve it," one council member remarked. "So where is White Heron now?"

"Shopping with my sister. We didn't want her wandering around alone, and she doesn't know the station."

"And it keeps her away from these proceedings. Very well." Admiral Barut settled in his chair. "Captain Crimson Blossom, you and White Heron have put us in a difficult position. I have no doubt that the Empire will continue to pressure for information about the kidnapping of Princess Schnee. I hate to put it this way, but we have to put the good of the Corsairs as a whole over that of an individual Corsair."

"Perhaps..." Opal started to speak, then trailed off. "An idea presents itself. What if there was a way to strongly imply that Princess Schnee had become an outcast and a Corsair, without exactly telling them?"

"How?" Blossom asked. Damned if she was going to let them throw Heron to the wolves without a fight.

"Simple." Opal grinned. "We hide her in plain sight."

* * *

Tegrin paced in the foyer of the council chambers. Over a week had passed since he'd given his message to that arrogant little slip of a girl that dared call herself a starship captain! He'd looked into some of her supposed 'victories', and more than a few of them looked to be more due to luck than skill, if not outright fabrications! If the rumors could be believed, the latest one had been due to a lucky shot by a rookie pilot on her first combat mission. And the way the council had let her have a ship after the disaster in Peltier was disgraceful.

Finally, Captain Blossom stepped into the foyer, followed by a white-haired Corsair who looked vaguely familiar. "My apologies, Lord Joral. I was detained for an administrative matter. A dispute over the prize money from our last battle requiring arbitration."

"Ah, I see. The burdens of command. I understand you have received word from the contracting party? Hopefully, it is good news."

"I have received word, but I don't know if you will consider it good news or not." Blossom held out a datachip. "They have sent a recording of Princess Weiss, recently made. That is as far as they are willing to go, for now."

Lord Joral sighed dramatically. "I suppose this is better than returning to his imperial majesty empty-handed, at least. Have you seen it?"

"Yes, they insisted that I watch it. Honestly, I wish this whole mess to blow over, and go back to some good, honest, pirate-hunting."

"You long to fulfill your place in the universe, I understand." Tegrin frowned, then addressed the white-haired young woman behind the captain. "My apologies if I break protocol, but have we met? You seem familiar, but I cannot place you."

"You do not quite break protocol with regards to _outcast_ , but you do skirt the edge of it," the white-haired woman replied, nodding her head. "If you see an _outcast_ you think you recognize from their previous life, asking if you know them is acceptable. It is up to them to acknowledge or deny the acquaintance. If they deny it, then you must pretend as if you have never met them before. They become someone new when they don the mask, and you must respect that. Regardless, I have not been _outcast_ long, so it is unlikely we have met. My name is White Heron."

Again, the woman's voice was so very _familiar_... "Very well then. I must be on my way. Captain Crimson Blossom, I thank you for your patience in this manner. The payment will be transferred to your account, as agreed."

After he'd left, Heron leaned into Blossom. "That was nerve-wracking."

"I was afraid he was going to identify you on the spot and try to take you away by force."

"I'd have just corrected him and walked off. Let him wonder."

"Yeah. Now, you, me, date, remember?"

* * *

Heron stood outside Blossom's quarters, waiting for Blossom to get ready for their date. Her own dress had been hanging up in Blossom's quarters for a week; Dragon had taken her to a dressmaker that specialized in accommodating _outcast_ and Corsairs, even accommodating the obligatory mask and Corsair's blade without a problem. He'd even asked how Heron wanted to wear her blade with the dress and did she expect to be able to fight in it.

The result was a scintillating pale blue dress that faded to white as it reached her ankles, split up the left side. Her blade was worn on the left side with a belt that featured the ship's crest on the buckle. The only other adornments she wore were her rating badge for pilot and her Black Tear on her left breast. "You don't have a lot of decorations yet, so wear what you got. If you got it, flaunt it. Corsairs respect someone who can handle themselves in a fight. Sis also had Ironwood put you in for something else for that whammy you put on that battlecruiser, but that'll take a bit. Black Tear's a given for your first battle, but still something you want to show," Dragon had advised her.

Sun favored her with a wolf whistle as he wandered past. "Looking sharp enough to cut yourself there, Heron. Date with the Captain?"

She blushed, knowing full well it would be visible under her half-mask. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. How are things between you and Neptune?"

"Eh, we had a fight yesterday. Giving each other some space, but it'll be okay, I think." Sun slipped her a thumbs-up and wink before sauntering off.

Finally, the hatch opened, and Heron's heart stopped. Blossom wore a knee-length black dress trimmed in red with a sweetheart neckline, a choker with the variant ship's crest that marked her as the ship's master around her throat, a few medals just below the neckline on her left breast. Heron recognized the Black Tear, of course, but she saw a couple of other awards that caught her eye, most notably the Shattered Blade Cross, awarded for extreme valor in the face of the enemy against impossible odds. Finishing it off was a sash at Blossom's waist, cinched in place on the left side by Blossom's Corsair blade. The overall result was " _Breathtaking_ ," Heron whispered, afraid to speak aloud for fear of spoiling the moment.

"You like?" Blossom spun in place, the hem of her dress rising just a hint as she did so. "I originally bought this for the Captain's Ball when I was awarded _Crescent Rose._ Shall we go?"

As they stepped off the boarding tube onto the station proper, Heron smiled. "You never said where we were going, only that it was 'somewhere special.' Are you ready to stop being mysterious yet?"

"Not quite." Blossom led her to a transit tube, summoning a two-person car, and punching in an address code manually instead of using the voice command. "It's somewhere Dragon and I go sometimes when the ship's in yard hands."

"Has that happened often?"

"This is the third major time she's been here, counting her first visit after we captured her. Pirates try to avoid the navy, but they don't seem to be able to grasp that Corsairs are just as heavily armed and we fight dirty." Their car pulled to a stop at probably the smallest tube stop Heron had ever been at, just a small waiting area fronted by a hatch. Blossom swiped her scroll at the access panel, revealing a small dining area with one entire wall taken up by a window. Heron stepped up to the window, her breath taken away by the sight.

Arrayed before her were the dockyards of Valiant Anchorage. She could see several ships undergoing repairs, including _Crescent_ Rose, work pods clustered around each one. A week on, their hull repairs were well underway, and a twinge went through Heron to see the ship that had become her home wounded like this.

Blossom stepped quietly next to her, sliding her hand into Heron's. "The might and power of the Corsair fleet," she whispered. "Cast-off, discarded, trespassed against beyond honor and reason, and yet we are strong. Corsairs have always lived in fear of the day the Imperial Navy comes for us, but when they do, we will be ready for them and we will not go down without a fight."

" _Corandar_ ," Heron whispered.

" _Corandar_ ," Blossom agreed, then led Heron over to the table set for two, pulling out a chair for her.

Reaching up to pull off her mask, Ruby smiled at Heron. "This is the Captain's Table. Each of these dining compartments seats only one party at a time, and they are only available to captains of Corsair ships. I'm told the food is unmatched outside of the Imperial Palace. One of the perks of being a Corsair captain." She raised her wineglass in a toast. "To Weiss Schnee of the past and White Heron of the future, the women I have loved, lost, and found again."

Heron matched Ruby's gesture, raising her glass in a matching toast. "To Ruby Rose and Crimson Blossom, whom I have been lucky enough to know and love."

"And to us."

"To us."


	8. Chapter 8

Lord Tegrin Joral bowed deeply as he entered the Emperor's working office. "Your majesty, I return with some small news of your daughter, Weiss."

"Not significant news?" The Emperor frowned. "I take it the Corsairs are being difficult?"

"Yes, your majesty, they are. Whoever contracted the kidnapping did so via a sealed contract; they refuse to divulge any details about the contract, such as who the contracting party was, or where they delivered her to. After a bit of convincing, I did get the captain of the vessel to pass a message to the contracting party, and they have sent a response."

"You mean the Corsairs offered to pass a message to get you to go away, and you took the token they handed back without an argument." Prince Whitley turned from the window, regarding Joral with a penetrating glare. "I still say I should have gone, Father. A heartfelt plea for news of my beloved older sister, how could the Corsairs refuse?"

Emperor Jacques Schnee shook his head, his habitual frown etched on his face. "Too risky. With Winter outright disappeared and Weiss kidnapped, you're the only remaining heir to the throne, regardless of the fact that you are heir primus. I can't, I won't risk you now."

"Perhaps this captain could be persuaded to meet me somewhere relatively safe, then? An Imperial Navy Anchorage, perhaps? The Corsairs do use them to transfer prisoners."

"Perhaps," Jacques muttered, considering it carefully. "We shall have to consider the matter carefully. It depends on what the kidnappers have sent, and how long it takes them to make any demands. So what did they send, Lord Joral?"

"The captain said it was a video of Weiss recently taken. I did not take the liberty of viewing it myself; I wanted you to be the first."

The video began to play, Weiss was sitting on a couch, a scroll on the low table in front of her. She cleared her throat and began to speak. "Hello, Father. Today is January Twelfth, and I hope this message finds you well. Apparently, the Event Horizons hyperball team has managed to win their division but lose a finals slot, with an ending rating of 7-12-3. I've never understood hyperball; I think you need a degree in hyperspace math or several neuroses to really understand how the scoring works." Weiss leaned back on the couch. "I've been told not to discuss where I've been, or where I am now. I will say that I've been reasonably well treated, and comfortably housed, if in somewhat plain surroundings. Lately, I've even been allowed to mingle with the local populace, within reason of course. They're friendly, but you have to earn their respect. I'm working on that."

Weiss looked up and to the left. "That's all the time I'm allowed for now. Please give my love to Whitley and my mother; I'm sure they must be worried about me. _Corandar_ , Father."

Whitley cleared his throat as the clip ended. "Not much to go on, is it? Though I do follow hyperball, Father. The Event Horizons did do as she said, about three days before you sent us word you'd gotten a response."

"I sent word the same day I was handed that datachip. That means she has to be within three days' flight of Valiant Anchorage! We have a search area!"

"Not necessarily." Whitley's face was thoughtful as he ran the clip back. "We'll have to run analysis, of course, but I think she was on a ship. The wall behind her looks like it might be a bulkhead. And it would explain the indirect communications you mentioned the captain had to use. And it could just be that the clip was transmitted to somewhere within three days of the anchorage, then carried by ship to the anchorage. I can't imagine someone this careful would have just transmitted this clip directly to this Corsair captain, ah, what did you say her name was? Crimson Blossom, that was it."

"Good points, Whitley. Admiral Adel, what do we know about this Captain Crimson Blossom?" the Emperor asked as he nodded at the Fleet Admiral.

"I've pulled what we know about her, but it isn't much before the events in the Peltier system. She was a fighter pilot with a Corsair task force that was contracted to suppress piracy in Peltier. They were betrayed and ambushed, and she was one of the survivors that were taken prisoner. About a month after being captured, the prisoners engineered an escape and took over the pirate base they were being held at, plus a few ships. She ended up in command—how is unclear—and proceeded to raise hell and kick pirate ass until more Corsairs showed up looking for them. Her ship, the _Crescent Rose_ , is one of the pirate ships she captured in Peltier. She's the youngest Corsair captain ever, by all accounts, and rather skilled at ship-to-ship combat, if currently lacking experience. From what I've learned of the events in Peltier and her combat actions since she shows signs of being a formidable opponent."

"Damned Corsairs," the Emperor muttered. "Just what does it take to get people like that in a proper Navy uniform?" He shook his head. "Alright, keep digging There's got to be something we can use against her. And no idea who she was before she became _outcast_?"

"We're still working on that, but Corsairs are very close-mouthed about that, even more so than most _outcast._ I'm told they don't think she's been _outcast_ for long, a few years at most. Peltier may even have been her first combat action."

Jacques frowned. "And they let her keep that ship?"

"It's highly unusual, even for Corsairs, but they take a looser approach to such things. She may have simply said, 'I'm keeping this one, you can have the rest.' The politics of the Corsair fleet and their Captain's Council are opaque at best to outsiders. Her executive officer, Stalward Ironwood, is very well known to us, however. Three decades as a Corsair, and we know he was Imperial Navy before that."

"So that's where he is now, interesting," the Emperor mused under his breath, just at the edge of hearing. "My apologies, Valiant Ironwood is a name that has come to Our attention before. I've heard that sometimes Corsairs will assign a more experienced executive officer to a promising young officer, to mentor them. If they've assigned Ironwood to this Crimson Blossom, they must think she warrants watching, one way or another. Keep me informed, Admiral. I will speak with you later, Admiral, Lord Joral."

After they had left, the Emperor propped his chin on his hands, lost in thought. "So we've got a firecracker young captain who came out of nowhere, captured a ship they let her keep, and got assigned a veteran executive officer. What do you make of that, Whitley?"

"I think she's likely very capable in combat, but I wonder how well she handles the other responsibilities of command, Father. Taking the contract to kidnap Weiss, for example, shows questionable judgment." Whitley sat in a chair next to the one the Admiral had vacated, a pensive expression on his own face. "She or the Captain's Council might be having second thoughts about the contract at this point, given the trouble we're causing them over this. We may be able to exploit that to find out who had Weiss taken. But I would suggest a more subtle approach than Lord Joral tends to employ. He likes quick, easy, solutions, blustering at everyone until they give him what he wants."

"Any specific ideas?"

"Let me study this Captain Blossom; I have an idea or two that I'd like to explore. Maybe I can build a rapport with her if a long-distance one. Get her to open up to us."

"Good. I think it might be time to... curtail the Corsairs in some way, put them back in their proper place. The stubbornness they're showing about the kidnapping of Weiss, on top of the fact that they were willing to kidnap her in the first place shows a disrespect towards the Empire that we cannot tolerate."

* * *

"Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Roman Torchwick slammed his fist down on the top of his desk repeatedly. "Oh, you're going to love this, Neo. Our friend Captain Byron, you remember him, don't you? The charming man with the _Katana_ -class battlecruiser he converted into a carrier?" Neo nodded, smiling. Captain Byron was fairly professional, as pirates went. He honored surrenders and made sure his crew got a fair share of loot. Not that he wasn't a merciless son-of-a-bitch when called to be, but at least he wasn't an _asshole_ about it. "Well, Captain Byron bit off more than he can chew. The Brightstar mining platform should have been a ripe plum, easy pickings. The local manager skimped on weapons as a cost-saving measure. Easy money, right? Wrong! Captain Byron manage to hit the place while there was a Corsair cruiser in the system. Still not a problem, right? Wrong!"

He lashed out with an arm, sending printouts flying from his desk. "Apparently our little friend from Peltier, you remember her, right?" Again Neo nodded, smiling, then made a throat-slitting motion. "That's right, the little bitch we really need to deal with, sooner or later. Well, it seems she managed to pound Byron's battlecruiser into scrap with light damage to her vessel, the, um, _Crescent Rose_ , silly name for a ship, who names a ship that? Anyway, Byron's battlecruiser is only fit for scrap now, unfortunately.

"And to top it all off, our little schoolgirl captain has a new playmate. She picked up a hotshot pilot who managed to kill Byron's battlecruiser with two missiles. Two! Fighter missiles, even! The shipyard that converted Byron's ship into a carrier did a crap job if the Navy report I've 'acquired' can be believed, and she managed to exploit that. So we have another new face for the shooting gallery."

Torchwick stabbed at his desk, and a face flashed up on the screen. A white-haired young woman, wearing an _outcast_ 's mask, naturally, arm-in-arm with the black-and-red-haired captain of the _Crescent Rose._ Neo studied the white-haired woman's face for a few moments, then grimaced, making throat-slitting motions with both hands at the same time. Roman laughed, rubbing the top of Neo's head affectionately. "That's right, Neo. We're going to have to kill both of them. Now how to arrange this, I wonder?"

* * *

The man studied the Corsairs coming and going from the shipyard, cursing himself for ever taking this job. Running things in and out of Corsair space was dangerous enough as it was, but this was pushing it. He was never taking a job like this again, no matter how much he was paid.

He sighted his marks as they stepped from the transit tube onto the concourse. Two lovely young ladies that he was pretty sure were from the ship he needed. Pity they were Corsairs; under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed their company either short- or long-term, but Corsair women were like snuggling up to a tiger. You never knew when the claws were going to come out.

Dragon and Heron were laughing as they strode down the concourse The bounty money and insurance payoff from the Brightstar job had finally paid out, and Heron had decided, in true Corsair fashion, to spend it on those most essential of accessories for a Corsair lady, weapons. Blossom had offered to buy them for her, which Heron appreciated but politely declined, saying that she wanted to take care of it herself. There were limits to how much of the 'captain's woman' she wanted to be, after all.

So Heron was now several thousand Lien poorer and richer by two plasma pistols, matching shoulder holsters, and a multi-action Dust Corsair's blade. She'd almost decided against the blade, thinking it a bit extravagant, but Blake had convinced her. "One thing Corsairs respect is being able to look after yourself. Good weapons are part of that, and if you've got the training to use Dust and your Aura, you need a weapon that can handle that. Spend the Lien. Or I'll tell Blossom, and it'll be sitting on your pillow when you get home." Heron idly wondered where she could find somewhere to test it out, really cut loose and brush up on her Aura training.

A man stepped off the escalator, and immediately Heron stiffened. He was trying too hard to be casual, play it off as if he was running into them by accident, but being around a lot people who hid their faces—or at least their eyes— with masks had sharpened Heron's ability to read body language. Add in the fact that _he_ wasn't wearing a mask and he might as well have had his intentions tattooed on his face. "Dragon," she whispered.

"I see him," Dragon murmured back, covering it with a laugh. "Let's see how this plays out, but I've got your back. Sis would never forgive me if I didn't."

"Excuse me, ladies, but... I'm in a bit of a bind," the man began, spreading his arms wide. "You're off the _Crescent Rose_ , aren't you? See, I've been hired to carry a package to the captain of the _Crescent Rose_ , but she hasn't left the ship since I've been here, and, well, they won't let me onto the dock. Restricted area, they say. So I was wondering, would you tell her I've got a package for her? Or maybe you'd carry it to her yourselves?" The man reached into a pocket, making both women flinch, but what he slowly and carefully pulled out and showed them was a small case for datachips. "See? Nothing to worry about, just some datachips."

"What's on the datachips?" Dragon rumbled, turning her head slightly to see if he had backup.

"Honestly? I don't know. All I was paid to do was be the courier. So what do you say? I'll even make it worth your while. Five hundred Lien, up front, if you tell your captain I've got a package for her. Carry it yourselves, and that's worth a thousand."

"I think..." Heron's grip on the hilt of her blade tightened, "that you should have picked a different pair of marks." The man gaped as a white glyph formed under his feet catapulting him into the overhead. He slammed back down, only to be pinned there by a black glyph, groaning.

Dragon looked around to see if anyone looked likely to back up their new friend, then leaned down. "See, dumbass, if you're trying to pull one over on the captain of the _Crescent Rose_ , you really shouldn't pick her sister and her girlfriend as patsies, got it? Now let's see what's in the little case, shall we?

* * *

"It's a trap, it has to be."

"Of course it's a trap," Blossom snapped at Dragon as she paced in the offices of Corsair intelligence. They might not have the resources the Navy had, but Corsairs kept a very close watch on the pirates, among other things.

Heron sat in a chair next to Blake, trying to comfort her. The first thing they'd seen when they opened the case had been a chip with Blake's name written on it, loaded with a video that made Blake break down in tears. It showed a cat Faunus woman, and a tall, powerfully built man standing next to her. The woman began to speak. "Blake, if you're seeing this, we're alive.

"We've been held captive by one of the pirate clans for about two years at this point. We're okay, or at least as okay as we can be, I guess. We've been told that included with this video will be a bunch of other intel on pirate operations. Some of it will be old, but some of it will be newer and more useful, even talking about upcoming plans. In any case, this is the deal being offered: The person sending this message is willing to make a trade: Our lives, in exchange for the destruction of Night's Haven Anchorage, which is where we are. Included on the chip is everything you should need to take out the Anchorage, location, layout, schematics of the defenses, everything."

It was the man's turn to speak. "Blake, I don't know if you're ever going to see this, but I wanted to say I'm proud of you. I've heard you left the pirates, become a Corsair. I'd rather have you back home, safe, but if you have to be out here, among the stars, I think I'd rather you be a Corsair than a pirate."

Blake had collapsed against the screen, sobbing, Dragon wrapping an arm around her to comfort her. Blossom had explained softly to Heron that Blake had run away from the mining colony her parents had led to become a pirate and hadn't spoken with them since. She'd heard that they'd gone missing in a pirate raid, and assumed they were dead. To see them alive again...

"Ugh, how long is this going to take?" Dragon slammed a fist into a bulkhead. "I want to know what's going on, now!"

"Relax, Dragon, let's give intel a chance to look at some of it. I know we're all Corsairs, brave and strong and true, but that doesn't mean we need to rush headlong into danger." Heron stood and, with a martial arts move Dragon couldn't have duplicated on a bet, tossed Dragon over the back of the couch Blake was sitting on to land upside-down next to her. "Now sit. Blake needs you right now and you're wearing out the deck."

"Sorry, Blake," Dragon muttered as she squirmed upright, "I guess I got a little worked up, you know?" Blake smiled, sadly, taking Dragon's hand in hers.

"If I may interrupt..." Ebon Toad, the intelligence officer they'd handed the datachips over to had returned. "We've taken a look at some of the data from the case. The historical data we've cross-checked is accurate, and some of the rest sheds new light on past events. And the intel on current pirate activities means good hunting for us in the near future." A wicked smile crept on Blossom's face at this; _Crescent Rose_ would be out of dockyard hands inside a week, plus juicy tips on where to find pirate prey? Life was good. "But that's not the best part, of course. Behold, Night's Haven Anchorage."

The holotank in the middle came to life, showing a smallish planetoid, a ring-shaped structure around it. The image of the asteroid spun in place, highlighting docking bays, defense batteries, missile launchers fighter bays, power plants. Blake groaned. "We'll never take that place, it's a fortress. Rescuing my parents is impossible."

"Blake, I haven't been a Corsair long, but I'm pretty sure saying something is 'impossible' to one is a sure-fire way to make sure they do it or die trying." Heron laid a hand on the Faunus's shoulder. "We'll find a way. We've got a whole navy to smash the place flat with."

"Well, at least now we know why we never found the place," Dragon said finally, looking up to find the others staring at her with blank, puzzled expressions. "Oh come on, I know history was my jam in school, not Heron's or Blossom's, but don't tell me you don't see it?" She jabbed into the hologram with her prosthetic hand. "That ring around it? It looks like a first-generation hyperdrive, the kind they used on the first colony ships, that carried, what, fifty thousand people at a shot. The drive itself is _huge_ , just like this, but it's also insanely efficient. If they've got the capacitor bank charged up, it wouldn't take much more than a dreadnaught's power plants to get this thing flying."

Toad nodded. "Good thinking; I'll pass that on to our analysis team. On another note, the courier's a dead end, at least for our purposes. He was paid a half million Lien for the job, in Imperial Bank bearer bonds, completely untraceable, and picked up the package from a blind drop. Upside is, he's wanted by five different governments that all want him dead. Bounty for him goes to you, White Heron."

Blossom paled. "Somebody paid him _half a million Lien_ to hand me that box? I smell a rat." Blake, Heron, and Dragon all nodded agreement. "Okay, I guess it's time for me to go tell the Captain's Council about this. But if this pans out and they decide to go for it, I think it's going to be open season on pirates for a while. Let's get ready to bag our limit, everyone."


	9. Chapter 9

Yang laughed as she and Blake twirled around the dance floor, dipping Blake low enough that her hair almost brushed the ballroom floor. The last time the two of them had gone dancing like this had been at the Captain's Ball when Crimson Blossom had officially been awarded command of _Crescent Rose._ And even then, Yang had worn her _outcast_ 's mask. It felt odd but strangely liberating to be barefaced, out in the open like this, dancing with the woman who had become the love of her life. She sighed softly and Blake quirked an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" she whispered, barely loud enough to reach Yang's ears.

"It's just...I wish we could dance like this more often, you know?"

"We can go dancing next time we make port, if you want."

"It's not that, its just...I want the two of us, just the two of us, no uniforms no masks, no weapons, just us. You, me, two lovely ladies and a dance floor."

"I know." Blake winked and shifted her posture, taking the lead in their dance. "But don't tell me you don't feel odd, not wearing any weapons."

"Or my mask." Yang's eyes took in the ballroom around them as they spun across the floor. Normally she would have said that large windows were a Bad Idea on spacecraft, but she had to admit that putting the spaceliner's ballroom under a transparent dome had been an inspired choice. From where the liner currently orbited the gas giant, the planet, its rings, and one of its moons were all visible, and the discrete lighting and reflective floor made it seem as if they were dancing among the stars. It made for a hellaciously romantic setting, that was for sure.

Blake stared straight into Yang's eyes for a moment, just enough to let her know she was serious. "Yang, Dragon, I love you with or without the mask. I don't know if we would have fallen in love if we'd met before I was a pirate, before you were _outcast_ , but we were different people then, and right here, right now, we love each other. And that's the most wonderful thing I can imagine, that I'm lucky enough to be here, now, with you."

"Same here. But I just wish that someday, somehow, I could dance with you in the ancestral home of the House of Xiao Long," Yang's voice trailed off wistfully.

"Hey, you two done making kissy-face out there?" Neptune's voice came over their implants from the upper level of the ballroom where he was serving drinks, disguised as a waiter. "Because not all of us are lucky enough to be out on the dance floor. Some of us are stuck playing waiter and getting out butts pinched by society matrons old enough to be our _grandmother_. Either that or they're trying to set us up with their granddaughters, which is getting older than said society matrons."

"At least you're not stuck in the cargo hold," Heron whined. "Nobody will play met at cross-ball anymore."

Yang blushed. "Sorry, everyone. I got a little carried away. I don't get to take Blake out dancing too often; too busy running the ship's marines."

"So get yourself a clerk," Heron replied, tossing her cross-ball for a six-way ricochet and catching it in her other hand with barely a look as she sat cross-legged on the wing of her fighter. "At least Blake's there with you; I haven't even _talked_ to Blossom in days."

Part of the haul from the intelligence cache from their mysterious benefactor had been a list of upcoming pirate targets, one of which was the spaceliner Dragon's team was babysitting. Two full squads of marines were hidden among the liner's passengers, staff, and crew, plus four fighters hid in one of the ship's boat bays just in case.

Unfortunately, while the rest of the detachment could go out unmasked, Dragon had quietly asked Heron to stay in the cargo hold with the fighters. They couldn't exactly have the mysteriously kidnapped Princess Weiss show up taking turns on the dance floor, could they? Especially since someone had leaked the fact that Weiss was missing to the tabloids. Some of the resulting clickbait headlines were absolutely hilarious; "Missing princess leading space vampire cult," had been one of Heron's personal favorites, the accompanying article making her howl with laughter so hard Blossom had forbidden her to read tabloid headlines in the captain's cabin, on pain of Heron being banished to her own rack for a week.

At any rate, the other Corsairs had taken pity on the trapped princess and taught her to play cross-ball, something they quickly came to regret. Apparently, the four-dimensional sense that made her a good fighter pilot made her a _terrifying_ cross-ball player; she'd once scored on two players in one throw, including bouncing the ball off Dragon's chest as she stopped by to check on the pilots and the other equipment stashed in the boat bay.

Yang mentally chided herself for relaxing and enjoying herself too much. It was time to do a Golden Dragon thing. She used her implant to drop a quick note for Blossom into message into the queue for the burst repeater they had stashed in the cargo hold with the fighters: _Hey, sis, call your girlfriend. She's getting stir-crazy._ There, that should improve Heron's mood for a while. And she made a mental note to do something nice for the Corsairs that had gotten stuck playing staff while others got to be crew. Maybe rent the liner's ballroom for an evening, if the pirates ever showed up? The liner's owners had certainly been eager to let the Corsairs ride along as protection, just in case; maybe that gratitude could be parlayed into letting them use the ballroom for free or at least cutting them a deal. Dragon would love to be able to afford the gesture herself, instead of having to ask Blossom to help foot the bill. No good asking someone to pay for their own present.

Wait, hmm, yeah. Get Blossom in on this too; she couldn't fit _Crescent Rose_ 's whole crew in here, but she definitely could let Blossom and Heron get a little dancing in themselves. At school, Weiss had been an amazing dancer, probably part of that whole princess deal, Ruby not so much, something Weiss had corrected with all the tenderness and determination she approached all things Ruby. _Proper ballroom dancing dresses for Blossom and Heron, check._ She knew there was a dress shop aboard; the dress Blake currently wore had come from there, a resplendent shimmering purple number that had had caught the eye of more than a few would-be dance partners. Blake had taken that with good grace, even accepting a few invitations, avoiding others in favor of Yang. Some of those she had avoided had taken it very badly, one going so far as to grab Blake's arm and jerking her towards the dance floor. Blake had surprised Yang by not hurting the young man; she'd just slapped him and shoved him into a buffet table, leaving it to security to escort him out.

"Something funny?" Her thoughts must have shown on Yang's face; Blake was grinning as she dipped Yang just as deep as she'd dipped her moments before, except this time, Yang's hair did touch the floor.

"Just remembering you shoving that asshat into the buffet. I was surprised you didn't hurt him; _I_ would have given him a broken arm for his trouble."

"Didn't want to ruin my dress. You should really visit the dress shop. They're not quite up to the standards of Valiant Anchorage, but it's not bad."

Yang shook her head. "Nah, I'm good. I like a dressmaker that expects me to fight in a dress."

"Seriously, we need to do something about your off-duty wardrobe. Didn't you originally buy that dress for your sister's first Captain's Ball?"

"What's wrong with my dress?" Okay, yeah, she was wearing her go-to dancing dress, but she _liked_ that dress, dammit!

"There's nothing 'wrong' with it, you just need more of them. After tonight, no more dancing unless you buy another dress. And I'm not kidding; no cheating by buying a dress that looks exactly the same either."

"Oh, fine. Tomorrow morning?"

"And at least three dresses."

" _Three_?" Yang yelped.

"Three. Who knows how long we'll be on this stakeout, and eventually someone will say something."

"But the liner goes back into port in a week..."

"Want to go for seven, then?" Blake's eyes narrowed and her cat ears flattened on top of her head, a sure sign she was annoyed.

"Fiiine." Actually, Yang had to admit Blake had a point. She was so used to wearing her uniform most of the time, her off-duty wardrobe wasn't much. And it might be time to rethink her uniforms, too. Corsair uniform standards allowed senior officers some leeway with their uniforms, but Dragon's threads were pretty much off the rack. Even Heron had customized her flight suit. Speaking of which...

"Hey Heron," Yang sent over the detachment net. "I noticed you carry two plasma pistols in uniform. Can you really use both of them at once, or is that just bravado?"

"Actually, I can shoot both of them at the same time. Care to try me?" Heron was laying flat on her back now, hands behind her head. "The trick is, don't fire both of them at once, you alternate fire. Helps with overheating."

"Where'd you pick that up, charm school?" There was snickering over the net.

"Your marines, you big oaf. You should spend more time listening to them."

That stung. Dragon hung out with her marines plenty, listened to them most of the time. Okay, some of them had been marines since she was in grade school, and she usually figured she got to command _Crescent Rose_ 's marines because her sister was the captain, but still-! A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she smiled at Blake. "'Scuse me, but I think I see someone in need of my charm."

"Behave yourself."

"I always do." Yang bowed deeply to Blake before step hiking up her ballgown and making her way to the little girl she'd seen sitting at the edge of the dance floor. "Hey, I see you over here, kicking your feet. Why aren't you out on the dance floor?"

"My stepmom says I can't dance anymore."

"Why not?"

The girl pulled up the hem of her dress slightly, revealing that both her legs were prosthetic. "I was in an accident six months ago, and she says my new legs are ugly but they'll have to do until I get bigger."

"So you've got some replacement parts, so what?" Yang held up her prosthetic hand and wiggled the fingers. "I've got a replacement arm, and I'm just fine." "But..." the girl's face fell, and she started to cry. "She says that now that I'm broken, I can't join the Navy. They don't take people with prosthetics." "One, you're not broken, any more than somebody who's had surgery is. You're still a whole person, even if some of you was built instead of grown. And two, they do so take people with prosthetics. The prosthetics have to meet Navy requirements, and you need a medical waiver. Your opportunities may be limited, but you can still serve."

"How-how do you know? Are you in the Navy?"

"Not exactly, but I've been around lots of people who are. Heck, one of my best friends is ex-Navy, and he's half machine!"

"R-Really?"

"Really really. Now come on, let's dance." Yang drew the little girl out onto the dance floor, leading her through the motions of the waltz currently being played. She caught the girl glancing nervously at another pair on the dance floor and frowned. "You know them?"

"My dad and stepmom. She doesn't look happy."

"Eh, forget her for now. Yeah, you might be a little awkward on your new legs now, but you'll get used to them. And dancing is really good agility training. You know professional cross-ball players take ballet, right? Teaches them to be light on their feet."

Someone cleared their throat behind Yang, and she turned to find a middle-aged man standing there, a bemused expression on his face. "May I ask why you're dancing with my daughter?"

"She looked like she wanted to dance. Somebody told her she can't dance or join the Navy because of her new legs. Well, she won't ever be able to unless she gets up on them."

"But..." the man looked uncertain. "They won't take her, will they? Not with her legs being the way they are."

"Daddy, she says I can still get in the Navy! Legs have to be good enough, and I need a medical wafer!"

"I think the word you want is 'wavier,' Melanie." He looked Yang in the eye, his eyes narrowing. "Are you certain about that, miss..?"

"Yang, Yang Xiao Long, and that's what I've been told. If she's willing to fight for it and keeps her school work up, a Navy career might still be in her future." Yang looked down at Melanie. "So what do you say? Are you a fighter?"

"You bet your ass I am!"

"Language, Melanie!" The man laughed and held out his hand. "Raebert Joqual, Miss Xiao Long."

Yang shook Raebert's hand, smiling. "A pleasure to meet you, sir. Now if there's no objection, I'd like to go back to our dance. Its good practice for her; I assume she's been doing physical therapy, but everyday things like dancing help too. You don't want to know what my sister had me doing when I lost my arm."

"Oh?"

"Cross-ball," Yang tossed over her shoulder as she and Melanie resumed their dance, making Raebert laugh behind them.

"S-So you said you weren't in the Navy, but you've been around lots of people who are, so what do you do?"

"Keep a secret?" Melanie nodded, a grin spreading across her face. Yang would be willing to bet not a lot of adults trusted her with secrets. "I'm a Corsair," Yang whispered in the young girl's ear.

"Really? Then what are you doing here?"

"Dancing with my lifepartner, silly."

"Where is he? He's not going to get jealous, is he?"

Yag laughed. " _She's_ over getting a drink and talking to a friend of ours."

"You're married to a _woman_?" Apparently, such a notion wasn't part of Melanie's no doubt very 'proper' upbringing.

"Yup," Yang replied, taking them past where Blake was standing. "That lovely lady over there with the black hair and the purple dress."

"She's pretty."

"Not why I made her mine, but it doesn't hurt."

"So... how did you lose your arm?"

"On the job, kid, on the job." Yang sighed. "Couple of years ago, a boarding action went badly. A pirate I've run into a couple of times cut my arm off with a forceblade."

"Oh. Being Corsair is pretty dangerous."

"Yeah. But it's the life I've got, so I make the most of it."

"How did you become a Corsair?"

"Well..." Yang was interrupted by a commotion near the elevator bank in the center of the room. Someone was shouting about guns, and she cursed. This had to happen _now_ , in the middle of her date with Blake? Yang sent the command to get ready over the detachment net as she let go of Melanie to march over to see what was going on.

A dozen men sporting pirate clan insignia were standing by the elevators, pointing laser rifles into the crowd. "Everybody cooperates and nobody gets hurt! I do so hate to interrupt such a lovely evening, but this is a hijacking. Start handing over your valuables, please."

"Excuse me! How dare you interrupt my date with my lifepartner! Do you know how often I actually get to go dancing with her?" Yang was channeling every last bit of inner 'rich bitch' she had left. (Not that she'd had much in the first place, or let it out often.) "You all need to leave, now! And apologize to all these people before you do!"

The talker brought his weapon around to point at Yang. "You need to shut up, lady, or you're going to get people hurt!"

"I'm going to assume you didn't hear me and repeat myself, which I really, really hate doing. Leave. Now." An attentive listener would have caught the menace in her voice with the last two words. The pirates were not attentive.

"Fine. She dies for your big mouth." The pirate slid his rifle away from Yang, and she turned in horror to see that Melanie had followed her. Before the pirate could shoot, Yang dived toward Melanie, using her body to cover the girl. The pirate's weapon fired three times, leaving smoking spots on the back of Yang's dress.

"Any other heroes?" the pirate leader asked, looking out at the crowd. "Next person that opens their mouth, get shot. Only warning. Now-" He looked over as a laugh came from where Yang was slumped over Melanie. "What's so funny? Got something to share with us while you die? Do I need to shoot you again to shut you up?"

"You're hilarious, you know that? Straight out of a bad movie. In fact, I'd bet that's where you got your dialogue, isn't it, watching space pirates in movies, right?"

"No!"

"Thought so. Now, me, I go for simple statements of fact. No bluff, no bluster, just telling you like it is. So here's how this is going to go." Yang stood and turned, her hairband converting into a Corsair's mask as spoke. "You and your band of merry men have one chance to drop their weapons and surrender, or you're going to be the ones getting shot. Run," she hissed at Melanie under her breath.

"Pretty mouthy for someone who's outnumbered and unarmed."

Dragon _flexed_ and a blade extended out of the back of her prosthetic's forearm, a small pulse blaster popping out of the bottom. "One, a Corsair is never unarmed. Two, who says I'm outnumbered? Look up, dipshits." One of the pirates did, there's _always_ one, and he gulped. Half a dozen Corsair marines had taken advantage of Dragon's distraction to grab weapons they'd hidden in the ballroom and take cover behind the railing, weapons aimed at the pirates.

"Start a firefight in here and these people are going to get caught in the crossfire. What about all that vaunted Corsair honor?" The pirates snickered.

 _Splat._ "Leave her alone!" Melanie had run all right, straight to the nearest buffet table, where she'd grabbed a something covered in whipped cream and hurled it at the pirate leader, striking him in the side of the head. More edible projectiles followed, impressing Dragon with her aim and enthusiasm.

"Little brat!" one of the pirates hissed, firing into the buffet table, trying to hit Melanie, who dropped down behind the table.

Bad move. Dragon charged him, slashing his wrist with her arm blade and disarming him before the other pirate goons could react. "Surrender," Dragon snarled, her blaster aimed at his face.

"You're still outnumbered, you stupid bitch. And our ship is on its way."

 _Heron, get the fighters launched. These idiots have a ship somewhere. Sis, time to get your dancing shoes on,_ Dragon sent via her implant.

 _Already preflighting. Any idea what they have?_ Heron sent back.

 _No._ "Alright, let's talk about this. You've got a dozen guys, supposedly a ship, and really bad breath. I've got two squads of marines, four fighters even now launching from one of the cargo bays, my own ship on its way, and a dress you've ruined. And I really liked the dress. Doesn't look good for you, does it?"

The pirate laughed, clutching his arm to stop the bleeding. "You think four fighters are going to take out our ship? They'll be drifting scrap in no time, and you'll be dead. Or maybe I'll keep you around as a pet. Cut your tongue out, teach you some manners, what do you say?"

"One, they're not trying to kill it, they just have to slow it down until our ship gets here. And two, one of the pilots out there killed a _battlecruiser_ with two missiles. Unless you've got a dreadnaught out there, I'm not really worried." Dragon grinned. "Guess we've got a real Vacuo standoff going here, don't we?"

 _I've got what looks like the pirate vessel on sensors_ , came across the link from Heron. Link messages were supposedly just text, but sometimes you could read a bit more, and Dragon thought Heron sounded... amused.

_How bad is it?_

_I think...it's a frigate._

Dragon's jaw dropped. "A frigate? You decided to rob a spaceliner with a stupid _frigate?_ Oh my gods! The Navy decommissioned the last of those over a century ago, and they were off the active list decades before that? Who seriously uses a frigate these days?"

"Hey! It's enough to take out this liner!"

Dragon shook her head. "Okay, time to waste these goons," she called out to her marines. "Leave tall, dumb, and chatty here awake. I want him to see what's coming for his 'mighty' frigate."

The Corsair marines opened fire, making the pirates run for cover. Unfortunately, the area around the elevator bank in the middle of the ballroom where they'd come up was relatively empty, and three or four pirates got cut down before they could find cover. One got the bright idea to try and grab a Faunus woman as a hostage; she stomped on his foot with one stiletto heel and then kicked him between the legs. Another tipped a table over, dumping the contents on the table's occupants, one of whom decided to object with a chair.

 _Keep them pinned down,_ Dragon ordered the marines in the ballroom. _The rest of the marines are on their way._ She saw Blake take out one of the pirates with collapsible versions of her stun batons, and the marines made short work of the rest. "Melanie!" Dragon yelled, running toward the table the girl had hidden behind.

There was a groan, and Melanie crawled out from under the wreckage of the table. "I'm okay, he missed me. But I think my stepmom is going to be mad. I ruined my dress." Melanie's dancing dress was a mess, the skirt torn so badly her prosthetic legs were plain to see, and making Dragon wince; she could see a blaster burn in the skirt. Melanie had taken a pretty close shot. "I think I can get my sister to spring for a new dress. Something appropriate for a girl as brave as you. Now come on, let's go watch the fun." She dragged the pirate leader to his feet and headed toward the elevator. _Dragon to Heron flight_ , she sent. _Status on pirate frigate?_

 _Target practice,_ Heron sent back. _I think they only had two missiles, which they fired at the liner at maximum range and we intercepted. And their close defenses are a joke; I'm pretty sure they're using canned routines from when the ship was built! Oh, I think they just lost their engines. Keeping an eye on them just in case._

 _Seems like I missed all the fun_ , Blossom sent. _Sorry, they did time this pretty well._ Crescent Rose _had to fall back a bit to stay hidden in the ring debris._

 _That's okay, I had a pretty good backup,_ Dragon sent back to the whole net, tossing the pirate goon aside and bending down to hug Melanie.

* * *

In the end, the pirates were mopped up with little fuss. Only one Corsair marine and one passenger were even wounded. The wounded passenger took it with good grace, refusing to sue or press any charges against the Corsairs despite his wife's insistence. "I've had worse skydiving, honey, and it's not like the Corsairs made the pirates attack us." The marine was less lucky; she'd gotten stabbed by a prisoner she'd just finished searching, leading to significant amounts of ribbing from other Corsairs.

The cherry on the Sundae was the call Blossom got from the liner's owners just hours after the attack, thanking her for the quick and decisive actions of her crew. Blossom played it off, giving most of the credit to Dragon and her marines. Then she ever so sweetly asked them for a favor...

''This is absolutely unacceptable!" The society matron screamed at the liner's chief steward, her face so red he was wondering if she was going to need medical assistance. "Why is the ballroom closed?"

"As I've told you, ma'am— " _several times already_ , he thought to himself— " the main ballroom has been reserved for the evening for a private function. Only invited guests are allowed."

"Nonsense! That ballroom holds hundreds of people. Who would have that many guests to invite aboard this ship?"

"It's not a matter of how many guests they have, ma'am. If it's reserved, it's reserved. I can't let you in."

"I demand to speak to the captain!"

"I have already spoken with the captain, and he has informed me that this comes from the owners. I'm sorry."

"Then I demand to speak to whoever has it reserved!"

"That would be me." Crimson Blossom stood there, in a full ball gown that matched her name in color, trimmed with black lace, Heron at her side similarly attired. "Forgive me, I'm Captain Crimson Blossom, of the Corsair heavy cruiser _Crescent Rose._ It was my marines and pilots that stopped the pirate attack yesterday."

"And we are all grateful for that, but what does someone like you want with the ship's ballroom?"

Blossom tilted her head slightly. "'Like me', madame?"

"Corsairs are little better than the pirates they claim to despise. I can't imagine what use a bloodthirsty myrmidon such as yourself would have for a ballroom."

"For your information, madame, I attended the last Emperor's birthday ball," Heron spoke up, softly. "Before becoming an _outcast_ and a Corsair, I was a frequent guest at the Imperial Palace. Some of us choose this life, others have it forced upon us. Do not make the mistake of assuming that the violence of our profession is all there is to our souls. Tonight we have rented the ballroom for a Corsair's Ball, where those of us that are _outcast_ can safely shed our masks and be as we once were. It's not something we often get to do, and seldom in a setting so elegant as this."

The elderly woman nodded sharply. "I see. Well, if there's nothing that can be done, there's nothing that can be done. So tell me, then, what makes a young woman of such rank that she was a 'frequent' guest at the Imperial Palace take up the Corsair's life, then? What is worth giving up all of that?"

"Never ask an _outcast_ that, never. And never ask them who they were before, either. Either question can get you shot." Heron's hand drifted to the hilt of her Corsair's blade. "I am giving you one chance to make amends for how unforgivably rude you have just been: Leave, or I will make you leave."

The matron paled and scurried away, leaving the steward regarding Heron with a bemused expression. "Would you have really hurt her?"

"Yes. You don't ask an _outcast_ either one of those questions, ever. Most would just have beat the crap out of her for the asking," Blossom replied before Heron could speak. "Now the ballroom is ready? The staff has been briefed?"

"Yes, ma'am. They have been told that anything they see, anyone they think they recognize, they keep to themselves. I've also taken care to assign the most trustworthy members of our staff to your event. Some of them have been saved by Corsairs before, more than once in a few cases. They'll be very careful of your privacy."

"Good." Blossom's tone softened. "Many Corsairs have pasts they don't want to be reminded of. Shall we?"

The corsairs filtered into the ballroom one by one, dressed in their finery. More than a few had visited the liner's clothing shops; Dragon, in particular, had spent hour replacing the dress she'd been wearing when the pirates attacked and adding a few more.

Speaking of Dragon, here she came, Blake and a little girl following behind. "Blossom, Heron, this is Melanie. She's the one that pelted those idiots with the dessert table."

Blossom smiled and knelt down, taking Melanie's hand in hers. "Thank you, Melanie, for taking care of my sister when I wasn't there. Courage fills many vessels, and I'm glad you found yours when she needed help."

"Wait, you're Yang-I mean, Dragon's sister? She says you're a really brave captain, and your ship is really cool."

"It's even one of my favorite colors, red. Most ships are just boring gray or white. Now, Dragon, our guess isn't properly dressed. Did you forget something?"

"Uhh..."

"To attend a Corsair's Ball, one must be a Corsair, which Melanie is not. I believe we can make her an honorary Corsair for one night, but she's still missing something." Blossom held out a white box tied with a red ribbon. "This is for you, Melanie. Go ahead, open it." Inside was a miniature Corsair's blade and a belt to wear it on. "It's not a real one, but this way, everyone will know you're an honorary Corsair for the evening." Heron stifled a giggle; the story of Melanie's dessert barrage had spread across the entire crew of the _Crescent Rose._ They might even be laughing about it at Valiant Anchorage by now!

The five of them stepped into the ballroom, emerging on the upper level by the staircase down. "Corsairs, we don't often get the chance to take off our masks and relax, be who we once were. But tonight, we will take off our masks. We do not mourn the lives we have left behind, we celebrate the lives we have built for ourselves. _Corondar_ ," and with that, Ruby took off her masks, the _outcasts_ in the crowd following suit. Weiss was one of the last, nervously pulling off her half-mask.

Melanie gasped. "You're as pretty as a princess! It's a shame you have to wear that mask."

Weiss giggled. "Keep a secret? I used to _be_ a princess! But it wasn't fun, so I ran away to be a Corsair instead. They let me be a fighter pilot, which is loads more fun. Now may I have the first dance?"

Later, Ruby and Weiss were taking a break when someone it took Weiss a moment to recognize wandered over. She stiffened; no wonder Ironwood always wore his mask. "Wow, I don't think I've ever seen you without your mask before. I see our brave captain managed to get you to relax."

"She ordered my attendance. Something about following my own advice. And I suppose it's a good thing to relax from time to time. But I wanted to let the Captain know that _Damnation's Hammer_ has reported in successfully. That makes us sixteen for sixteen on this batch." Ironwood bowed and kissed Weiss's hand. "PlusI do really enjoy dancing. Care to take a twirl, your Highness?"

"I would be delighted, Admiral."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I want to take a moment to talk about a few aspects of the setting.
> 
> First, there are the masks that outcasts wear. A half-mask is something like what Adam Taurus or the rank-and-file White Fang wear. Usually, they have designs on them to help with identifying individual outcast. When Weiss/Heron wears a half-mask, it's more like the regular White Fang ones, because she's more concerned with being recognized. Unlike a domino mask, the eyes are not visible to others. A full mask covers the entire face and sometimes part of the head. What Yang/Dragon wears into combat is something like Raven's mask.
> 
> Custom masks are almost universal. For example, when flying, pilots often wear a mask that latches onto their helmet or is built into the helmet. Common features for masks include things like toxin filtration, flash protection, low-light vision, or a heads-up display.
> 
> Next are Corsair blades. Imagine them as something like a cross between a gunblade and Crow's sword. They are capable of changing in length between a shortsword or cutlass length up to a broadsword or even a greatsword's size.
> 
> And finally, it was asked what the _Crescent Rose_ looks like! Honestly, I struggled with this one. Not because I didn't know what the ship looked like, but how to describe it. Thus:
> 
> The main hull is made of two teardrop-shaped pods with a thick trunk in the middle. The forward pod is two-thirds the size of the aft pod. There are three equally spaced crescent-shaped wings extending forward from the aft pod; two above and one below, like a letter 'Y'. The crescent wings end just past the midpoint of the hull, with cylindrical pods at the wingtips. The hull is not smooth; like the Earth Alliance ships in Babylon 5, there are sections where the mechanical workings underneath are visible. The ship's hull is painted in red with trim and highlights in black. The ship's crest is painted on both sides of the forward hull. Since their engines are gravity-based, there are no visible exhaust ports.


	10. Chapter 10

>

_There is an element of uncertainty in hyperspace travel. The longer the distance from your entry point to your intended destination, the further away from that destination you are likely to arrive. Travel across a star system and this 'drift' is likely to be measured in kilometers. Travel a hundred light-years, and it's possible (if unlikely) to end up just about anywhere in the target star system. On top of that, if there's already a physical object where you'd emerge, your vessel will be displaced, 'kicked' as spacers call it, away from your arrival point a distance proportional to the mass of the displacing object. This is actually a good thing from a safety viewpoint since it prevents you from arriving within a physical object and Bad Things happening; from a tactical standpoint, it's something of a mixed blessing, since the kick can be none too gentle and your orientation and vector will be random. Both of these combine to make formation flying through hyperspace impossible._

_Most star navies throughout history have handled this by having their fleets arrive far enough from their destination to give them a chance to sort themselves out into a proper order of battle. Unfortunately, this removes a large portion of the element of surprise from any assault on a fixed position, since your target will see you coming and have time to come to battle-stations and call for help. If the target is not a fixed installation but is mobile, they may have a chance to flee, either in normal space or going to hyperspace._

_Corsairs do not handle this like most navies do. Corsairs will come out of hyperspace right on top of your heads and take their chances._

* * *

Crimson Blossom grunted as she was jerked forward in her captain's chair. _Crescent Rose_ had jerked _hard_ upon coming out of hyperspace; they must have come out right on top of something big and been 'kicked' out of collision range. Someone was being violently ill in a corner of the bridge; no time to think about that now. "Status report," she said through gritted teeth, choking back her own rising gorge.

"We're tumbling, Captain, bringing that under control now," Velvet responded from the helm.

"Where are we? Where's the anchorage?"

Velvet froze, her hands over her console. "Captain, we're less than ten kilometers from the anchorage!"

 _Ten kilometers?!_ That wasn't knife-fighting range, that was suicide range! "Evasive pattern rho-thirteen! Get us in a daisy-cutter orbit around the anchorage! Tactical, you are free to fire at anything shooting at us or that you just don't like the looks of. Beam weapons only against the anchorage unless I order otherwise; don't want to mess up our prize too much. Get the fighters launched but keep them close, we'll need the cover. Warm up the assault shuttles, start laying the hyperspace mines, and someone please find the rest of our fleet? I know we're pretty badass"— this drew chuckles and grins from the bridge crew as they set about their tasks— "but we don't want to hog all the fun, now do we?"

* * *

Heron smiled a predator's smile as she brought her new Scimitar around, glancing at the tactical display. Someone on Night's Haven Anchorage had been awake on watch, judging by the number of fighters launching from the anchorage. Not as many as she would have expected, given the number of fighters their information said the anchorage had, but you couldn't expect Corsair or Navy level discipline from pirates, now could you?

She swerved to one side as _Crescent Rose_ fire a missile salvo toward the anchorage. No sense getting too close to that much firepower if you didn't have to. Heron frowned, then tapped her tactical display. "Corrin, you seeing what I'm seeing, around 310, mark 23?"

"Yeah, either big gunboats or frigates. Nothing we can't handle but nothing to ignore, either." Heron nodded, bringing her fighter around to face the new threat. Frigates were almost obsolete by modern naval standards; once you packed the essentials of a starship into a hull that small, there wasn't much tonnage left for weapons or other things. Most frigates had either been scrapped or converted to system-defense ships, trading endurance and hyperspace capability for firepower. Given that Night's Haven Anchorage was a goddamn _planetoid_ she was sure they had the room to bring the frigates along inside if they had to leave. Or maybe they planned on abandoning the frigates while the anchorage escaped; pirates were about as well-known for their loyalty as they were for their discipline.

Another Corsair ship dropped out of hyperspace nearby, tumbling even worse than the _Crescent Rose_ had; Heron's display showed it as the _Ismelda's Blade._ Without thinking about it, she turned her fighter toward the _Blade._ If their emergence had been that rough, they were going to need time to recover. _Crescent Rose_ turned to put itself between the oncoming enemies and the _Ismelda's Blade._

Heron's hands shook as she remembered the night before. She and Blossom had held each other all night, barely saying a word, each doing their best to comfort the other and reassure them that things would be okay. _Bravery is not the absence of fear; that is foolishness, for only a fool is not afraid,_ she had read somewhere once, _bravery is acting in defiance of your fear._ Heron wasn't afraid of her own death, not anymore, really; she was more afraid of failing Blossom and her shipmates, of dying and leaving Blossom alone once more. _Stop that_ , she scolded herself, _think like that and you_ will _end up dead. If death comes, death comes, just make sure you have a hell of an honor guard in the afterlife._ Heron gave her head a shake and refocused on the task at hand.

The first of the pirate gunboats had reached _Ismelda's Blade_ and were raking it with beam and missile fire; the Corsair vessel's defenses were starting to respond, sluggishly, most likely under local control instead of being coordinated by the ship's tactical officer. And then the fighters of Wyvern and Drake squadrons fell upon them, and Heron had no more time for side thoughts.

* * *

The insider checked her scroll as the alarm began to wail. Numerous Corsair vessels had emerged near Night's Haven Anchorage and were engaging the pirate vessels defending it. One of the ones closest to the anchorage was the ship she'd sent the intelligence to, the _Crescent Rose._ Today her mission of infiltrating the pirate clans was over.

She smiled and did a little twirl of joy. Hooray! Today was going to be so much fun!

* * *

_Ismelda's Blade_ got their tumble under control and formed up with _Crescent Rose_ and _Damnation's Hammer_ , the three Corsair cruisers forming the vanguard for the assault on Night's Haven Anchorage.

" _Hammer, Blade,_ hit the docking caverns where they have their warships docked. Trap them inside if you can, before they get loose and crash the party. Launch your assault shuttles and have them form up on _Crescent Rose_ ; we'll escort them to the small craft landing bays. Time to give these pirates hell!" Blossom snarled as the remnants of the pirate gunboats fell back.

The three cruisers arced around the anchorage, using their beam weapons to destroy the weapons emplacements on its surface. _Damnation's Hammer_ fired a missile salvo into one of the large caverns the pirates were using as a shipyard, putting a feral grin on Blossom's face. Between the pirate ships' shields being down and the confined space, the missiles would wreak all kinds of hell in there. Any ship inside was out of the action for all intents and purposes. _Ismelda's Blade_ was raising its own kind of hell; one of the pirate cruisers had made its way to the opening of another docking cavern, and the _Blade_ had it pinned in the opening, keeping it from escaping and trapping any other pirate ships inside. It was just the luck of the draw that left that one cruiser ready to join the fight.

"There!" Blossom's finger jabbed toward the surface of Night's Haven Anchorage. "That's the landing cavern we want. All assault shuttles, that's your objective; we'll cover you from here. Tactical, flatten those weapon emplacements guarding it. I don't want my sister complaining about a rough ride."

Down on _Rose_ 's flight deck, Dragon grinned a feral grin as her assault shuttle lifted off on its way toward the anchorage's landing bay. Blake reached out and gave her gauntlet a squeeze. Today, for the first time in a long time, the two of them would be fighting apart. Blake's mission called for infiltrating the pirate anchorage and securing the command center; the hope was that from there they would be able to keep the pirates from engaging the hyperspace drive and escaping. Dragon would be part of the main assault; theirs would be to take and hold territory, crushing any resistance they encountered.

This was, by far, the largest assault the Corsairs have ever undertaken. Night's Haven Anchorage had a rotation population in the _thousands;_ even assuming half the pirates on station simply surrendered, the Corsairs were still facing stiff odds. _Crescent Rose_ and every other ship in the assault were jammed full of troops, their flight decks packed with assault shuttles. There hadn't been enough room to board the shuttles in the normal fashion, so it had been done in stages.

Dragon reached over toward her lifepartner, taking Blakes hand in her gauntleted hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, mindful of the power armor's strength. "Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah," Blake gulped. "I think so. It's just... my parents are in there somewhere, and I really, really don't want to fuck this up. I even..." She jerked her head toward the rifle racked next to her, and Dragon nodded. After leaving the pirates, Blake had sworn an oath never again to take a life she didn't have to. Normally she even refused to carry lethal weapons in combat, preferring to rely on nonlethal weapons like the paired stun wands that were her weapon of choice. That rule was not in play today. The rifle at her side was deadly, her stun wands replaced with twin short-swords.

Dragon looked around for a moment, then took her helmet off and looked at Blake, lilac eyes meeting amber. "I know, Blake. I'm frightened too. But taking down Night's Haven Anchorage is something the Corsairs have dreamed of for a long time. We take this place, and the pirates are _broken._ This is a blow from which they won't recover for a long time, if ever." Yang reached up and put her helmet back on, careful not to snag it on her pinned-up mane of blonde hair. "So you were never here, huh?"

"No, the White Fang pirate clan has their own anchorages. Nothing so big and grand as this; the Navy's a lot more successful at keeping them pinned back than the main clans." Blake shook her head. "There were all sorts of rumors about this place, even that the pirates cut a deal with the Outer Dark cults to be able to move the anchorage, but I thought that was crazy."

"Glad it turned out to be an old-style huge hyperdrive instead; I hate the Outer Dark." An alarm buzzed in the troop compartment, and Dragon grinned under her helmet. "Alright everyone, look alive! Time to crash the pirates' party! _Corandar!_ " she screamed, and _"Corandar!"_ came back from every throat in the compartment. White Heron's impromptu battle cry had caught on among _Crescent Rose_ 's crew, regardless of Crimson Blossom making it the ship's motto.

The shuttle shook, then slammed into something, hard. Dragon could feel them skidding as the lights in the compartment died, the emergency lights coming on. They slammed up against something and she cursed. "What was that?" an anonymous voice came from somewhere near the boarding ramp.

"That was what is known in technical terms as a crash. And you just volunteered to check the boarding ramp to see if there's air outside and if the ramp is functional. Helmets on, everyone. Welcome to the show!" Dragon stood and turned toward the flight deck, Blake following behind her.

"Think we landed in the anchorage?" Blake asked, barely loud enough for her to hear. Dragon nodded, reaching toward the pilot, slumped over in their seat, and checking for a pulse. Nice and steady, no obvious bleeding, probably just out cold. "Hope so," Dragon replied, "I'd hate for us to be sitting on the _outside_ of the anchorage in a dead shuttle. I don't even have any popcorn."

"Dragon? We got air. Ramp servos aren't responding, but the emergency release shows green." Others reported their status and she nodded grimly. Minor injuries, a few knocked cold, but okay overall. She started to call for everyone to get ready to disembark, but before she could, there were thumping and scratching sounds on the shuttle's hull. Some sort of beast? No, worse. "Grimm," Dragon hissed, and Blake flipped the safety off her rifle, bringing it up to cover the hatch. The shadow creatures were favorite pets of the Cult of the Outer Dark, and if they were out there, that made this a whole different ballgame.

Dragon took a position in front of the boarding ramp, the burst cannon she was carrying leveled and ready. "Drop it," she snapped, and the marine at the control panel hit the release, bringing his own burst rifle to the ready with a fluid motion. The ramp hadn't even hit the deck outside before the Grimm were trying to force their way in. Dragon laid down fire in long, continuous bursts, sweeping back and forth, the rest of the marines adding their weight of fire to hers. Overwhelming firepower was the only real response to Grimm; the summoned creatures had no sense of self-preservation, only obedience to the will of the cultist that called them into existence.

The marines fought their way out of the shuttle, forcing the Grimm back with sheer firepower. "There is no kill like overkill" might not actually be the Corsair marine motto, but it wasn't far from it. Dragon could see other Corsair shuttles scattered around the landing cavern, some more or less intact, their troops fighting their way out, other burning wrecks from which there was little hope of survivors. _Damn, there sure was a lot of firepower waiting for us. What the hell?_ Then she saw the Outer Dark symbols on a lot of the shuttles that weren't theirs in the landing cavern. The firepower made sense now. If the Outer Dark had been visiting the pirates, of course, they would have come armed. The pirate clans and cultists trusted each other only slightly more than they'd trust the Navy or Corsairs. She stopped to send a message to her sister via her implant: _Shuttle shot down, Blake and I are okay. Looks like we crashed a get-together between the Outer Dark and the pirates. Under heavy fire. Could use some help if you've got it._

* * *

White Heron and Corrin braked hard as they flew into the cavern Dragon's shuttle had crashed in, bringing their fighters into a hover. Heron swung the fighter's nose around, using the plasma guns to rake Outer Dark and pirate positions. Gods what a mess. The cavern was an antechamber to any hell you cared to name. Shuttles and other small craft were on fire everywhere. The Grimm were attacking pirates and Corsair troops alike. Maybe the Outer Dark had decided that the pirates had betrayed them or maybe they just didn't care if the Grimm ate pirates.

" _Good to see you guys,"_ Dragon's voice came over the radio. _"Pity you didn't bring any party favors for shooting at ground troops."_

" _Was just thinking that,"_ Corrin replied. _"We'll do what we can with guns, but I'm not tossing fighter missiles around in here. Everything's too mixed up for that."_

Shadowy winged forms rose up from near a shuttle bearing Outer Dark markings. "Corrin, flying Grimm!" she yelled out as a Nevermore flew up in front of the nose of her fighter. She tried tracking it with her guns, but it was too quick to hit. The Grimm hovered in midair for a moment, then released a blast of ebon razor-sharp feathers at her.

All Dragon could do was look on in horror as Weiss's fighter crashed to the ground. _"Weiss!"_ she screamed.


	11. Chapter 11

" _Wyvern Six is down."_

Only someone who had known Corran for years could have heard the subtle tone in his voice, how close it came to breaking. Death was always a possibility for Corsairs, yet every time he lost one of his pilots, it was a wound on his soul that never healed. He'd see far too many die, first in his time with the Navy, then as a Corsair. And this time it was one of the worst. Heron had been so _alive,_ had meant so much to his Captain and his shipmates. White Heron may not have been a Corsair for long, but the brightest stars always burn fastest, and Heron had been a bright star indeed.

Time enough for those thoughts later. Right now he had to focus on not joining her. He slewed his fighter around, firing his guns at the flying Grimm swooping around the cavern. Lancers had joined the Nevermores, and he could see more large Grimm on the ground. Damn, things were getting downright hairy in here. _Requesting additional air support,_ Corran sent over the general tactical net, _preferably configured for ground support._

* * *

The bridge of a warship in battle is a unique sort of controlled chaos, and by no means quiet. Now there was a hushed tone as the crew went about their tasks, and everyone was very carefully _not_ looking at their captain any more than they had to. The hatch opened quietly, and Stalwart Ironwood stepped through, stopping behind his captain's command chair. "Captain, if you need a moment," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear

"That's a moment we don't have right now, James," Blossom replied, just as softly as he had spoken. "Right now all I can do is make sure she has a hell of an honor guard in hell." Her voice rose, taking on a firmer tone. "Helm, come to two-one-zero, up four-five. Looks like the _Vendetta_ 's gotten themselves outnumbered; let's even those odds. Focus fire on the pirate cruiser to port, guns only. They're closer to the _Vendetta_ than I like."

* * *

Dragon ducked behind a pirate shuttle that had mercifully survived the battle without any damage so far. This was taking too goddamn long. Corsair marines were trained for boarding actions, not pitched battles like this. "After this," she gasped, looking at Blake, "whaddya say to a week on a beach somewhere? I think you'd look great in a bikini."

"I...I can't swim," Blake replied, surprised.

"You can learn. I used to love to swim, before..." Dragon shook her head, peering out from her cover. "Okay, Bolt, looks like half a dozen pirates have decided to hide behind that heavy lifter over there. Bad tactical decision, don't you think? Do me a favor and show them the error of their ways?"

Bolt nodded and took Dragon's place at the edge of the shuttle, sticking his head out to get the range. Lifting his grenade launcher, he fired three shots in quick succession, bracketing the pirates hiding behind the lifter, killing a couple of them and sending the others running. Dragon and her marines opened fire, and she saw at least two more pirates drop

"Is today Tuesday? I could have sworn today was Tuesday." Dragon quipped as her squad moved out.

"Nah, it's Monday. Mondays always suck." Bolt's comment drew a chuckle from the marines; aboard ship, there's no such things as weekends.

Dragon spared a moment before leading her troops onward to send a message to Neptune and Sun: _Any luck yet?_

* * *

Sun dived for cover as he took fire from behind a stack of cargo containers, Neptune spraying fire at the cultists. _No, not yet. Rough going getting there. One sec._ Sun popped up, adding his fire to Neptune's.

_You do realize she went down in an inferno, don't you?_ Neptune added as two of the cultists broke and ran, Sun gunning one of them down before he could get more than a dozen steps.

_I know, but...it's Heron. If there's any chance at all, we have to take it. For Blossom,_ Dragon sent back. Neptune could hear the anguish in her words, and immediately wished he could take back his words.

_It's cool. You just owe me and Neptune a week on a beach somewhere :P,_ Sun shot back, managing to get a grenade over the cargo containers the cultists were hiding behind, scattering them.

_No beach. I don't like the water._ Neptune flipped his rifle to full auto, spraying the fleeing cultists.

_Wherever you like, guys. Just find her, but don't get dead doing it._ Dragon broke the connection.

Neptune looked at Sun, coughing from the smoke. "You know this is pretty much a suicide mission, right?"

"Yeah. But it's for the Captain. And you know she'd do the same for us. Remember that shuttle full of hostages right after she took command? I saw her take down three guys with just a knife in her boot before the first shot was even fired." Sun shook his head. "Now's our chance to pay her back, with interest. Come on."

* * *

A pack of beowolves came howling over a shuttle at Dragon's team, and she grinned even as her marines opened fire. More Grimm meant she was getting into the cultist positions. Above her, she could see Corsair shuttles and fighters making landings and providing close air support. Now that they were past the surprise of finding cultists mixed in with the pirates, the Corsairs were responding with overwhelming firepower.

Dragon snarled as she punched a beowolf in the chest with the _plasmafaust_ built into one of her gauntlets. It was times like this she missed her Ember Celica, left behind when she and Ruby fled for their lives in the wake of Dad's conviction. Yeah, a _plasmafaust_ did the job, but it just wasn't the same.

And then the beowolves were among her marines, and it was Corsair blades versus claw and fang, the mini pulse weapons built into their blade seeing liberal use. She saw one beowolf literally throw itself on a marine's blade, snarling and snapping to get at the marine even as it impaled itself further on the blade, ending when the marine blew the Grimm's head off.

As the last of the beowolves vanished into smoke, Dragon waved for a breather. Time to let her marines catch their breath. She brought the tactical map up on her implant. What a mess. Between their shuttles getting shot down or having to make landings wherever they could, the Corsairs had stated out in small, isolated pockets. But it looked like the tide was turning. The marines were fighting as a unified, disciplined force, taking and holding ground, survivors hooking up to form larger units. Pirates held little loyalty to each other, and it showed. They were either fleeing or attacking whoever was closest to them and suffering for it. As she watched, Dragon could see known or suspected pirate positions disappearing from the map.

The cultists were holding out, though, and calling up more and more Grimm. Hells, they probably weren't even bothering to control the beasts, just turning them loose to cause whatever havoc they could.

By the grace of whatever dark gods looked after fools and Corsairs, it looked like Dragon's team had worked their way towards one of the larger Outer Dark concentrations. Good. Time for some payback. Maybe they'd even manage to get the bastard that called up the thing that downed White Heron.

She forced herself to stop, taking several deep calming breaths. Being angry over Heron's death was okay—Dragon was only mortal after all—but this was no time to let her temper do her thinking. Too many other lives depended on her having a clear head today. Dragon considered the tactical map carefully. It looked like there was a good-sized group of cultists nearby and a lot of Grimm coming from that area too.

Time to go hunting.

* * *

Outside, the space near Night's Haven Anchorage had become a silent disco of carnage. Pirate reinforcements were starting to arrive in scattered ones and twos, forcing the Corsair ships to break off their assault on the anchorage and face them.

_Crescent Rose_ , _Ismelda's Blade_ , _Damnation's Hammer_ , and the _Vendetta_ were paired up in two-ship elements, the _Hammer_ with the _Vendetta_ and the _Blade_ with the _Rose_. Space twisted and warped as a pirate cruiser dropped out of hyperspace in front of the _Blade_ and the _Rose._ Beams and missiles lashed out from the Corsair ships, gouging deep into the pirate vessel before it even knew what had killed it. Blossom bared a feral grin under her mask as lifeboats spilled from the dying pirate cruiser. Between the natural gravity well of the anchorage and the hyperspace mines the Corsair ships had deployed, the odds of an incoming vessel arriving anywhere near its intended arrival point were next to nonexistent.

_Crescent Rose_ shook as another pirate vessel dropped into existence, this time aft of them and the _Blade_. The Corsair ships arced around, splitting up, _Ismelda's Blade_ swooping above the pirate ship, _Crescent Rose_ diving underneath, both ships rolling to bring their broadsides to bear.

_Another pirate vessel destroyed,_ Crimson Blossom thought as _Crescent Rose_ and _Ismelda's Blade_ turned back toward the anchorage. The Corsair assault teams were slowly but surely clearing a pathway through the abattoir the landing cavern had become. It was simply bad luck that the Corsair assault had coincided with a visitation in force by the cult of the Outer Dark.

Or maybe there was something more to it. Was the Outer Dark preparing to bring the pirates under their control? Now there was a horrifying thought. The pirates were already a fairly bloodthirsty lot; adding the lunatics of the Outer Dark to the mix didn't bode well for anyone.

No time to worry about that now. Blossom snapped out orders and beams shot out from the _Crescent Rose_ , shattering more of the remaining weapons mounts on the surface of the anchorage.

Underneath Blossom's mask, a tear rolled down her cheek.

* * *

Dragon bit back a curse as her marines poured fire into a pack of cultists huddling in the wreck of a shuttle. Sane people wouldn't take cover in something that was actually _on fire_ , but the Outer Dark wasn't known for their sanity on a good day. Today what little sanity they normally had was gone, shattered by their rage at finding themselves under attack by the Corsairs.

"Bolt, how many grenades do you have left?" she called over her shoulder as she fired her burst cannon into the shuttle. She was going to have to order a break in their advance soon. The marines' weapons were overheating and malfunctioning, to say nothing of her cannon.

"Two, boss. 'Don't miss,' right?"

"Right." Unfortunately, their merry little band of maniacs was currently cut off from any other Corsair forces, whether by the pirates, the cultists, or some combination of both, it didn't matter. They were short on ammo and long on odds. What the hell. Most _outcasts_ didn't live more than a decade, though Corsairs tended to buck that trend. "Cover Bolt!" she ordered at her marines, and they all opened fire as Bolt fired the last of his grenades into the wrecked shuttle.

The shuttle exploded, whether from Bolt's grenades or something cooking off inside the shuttle there was no way of telling. "Take ten. Check gear, do what you can about ammo." Dragon flipped up her faceplate, not caring right now if anyone saw her face or not. It was getting pretty whiffy in her armor. "Blake, can you sneak ahead a bit and give me an idea what's in front of us? A spa might be nice."

Blake gave Dragon a quick kiss before disappearing into the smoke and chaos. Less than ten minutes later she was back, looking like she couldn't believe what she had found. "Yang, Dragon, you've got to see this. I...I can't really find the words."

Frowning, Dragon motioned the marines to follow Blake. What had unnerved her so much that she'd called her by her birth name? Blake motioned everyone down, then gestured for Dragon to follow her up a stack of cargo containers. Once at the top, Blake got down, crawling to the far edge. Dragon followed, slow and careful. Her lifepartner sometimes mocked her for having all the subtlety of a supernova, but she knew how to move quietly when she wanted to. "Lord and Lady," Dragon whispered, horrified at the sight that lay before her.

The Outer Dark cultists had found or made a large clear area between a group of their shuttles. Pools of roiling, viscous blackness lay scattered around. As she watched, a trio of cultists dragged a struggling pirate to the edge of one. Two of them held the pirate while the third slit his throat, chanting as she did so. Even before the cultists had dragged their victim's body aside, beowolves started to drag themselves from the pool, snapping and snarling at the cultists and each other. The one that had chanted spoke again in the same language to the Grimm, gesturing out into the landing cavern. The largest of the beowolves threw back its head and howled., the rest of the pack joining in.

They crept back to the rest of the marines, filling them in on what the two of them had seen in hushed tones, Dragon finishing with, "We've got to take this out. It's some sort of spawning place for Grimm. They can summon more of those damn things on a scale that's... unimaginable. And we've got to flat-out kill that woman in the red dress."

Blake shivered at the memory. While most of the cultists had worn a mix of black, grey, and white, there had been one woman wearing a crimson dress that had seemed to be in charge. And the look on her face...she shivered at the memory. It had almost seemed as if the woman was _enjoying_ the carnage that had been unleashed with an almost orgasmic intensity. "No problem. She's mine."

"Blake... are you sure?"

The Faunus woman nodded again, her face set in stone. "Some people are just...just, I don't know the words. So far gone you can't share the universe with them, not and ever feel safe. Some people you just have to kill, put them down like a rabid animal." Blake drew her twin short-swords and looked at them, her voice catching as she continued. "I'll take her down after the rest of you hit their perimeter. Give me a five-minute head start."

"Okay, here's the plan," Dragon whispered as her marines took up position to assault the cultists. "Bust in and shoot anything that moves. Keep your fire away from the woman in red until Blake takes her shot. Other than that, just try not to die. I look forward to buying you thirsty bastards as much beer as you can drink." This drew a ragged laugh. Dragon reached up and pulled over her helmet, looking her marines in the eye. "I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. I wish—" Yang's voice broke, but she continued—"I wish my father could have known such men as you. He would have been proud to see us today."

The marines broke through the edge of the cultist camp, butchering the cultist guards with lethal efficiency. They took what cover they could find behind random piles of debris, downing the cultists near them with rapid, precise fire even as every cultist in the area surged toward them. The woman in red sauntered toward the Corsair marines, her every move speaking a laughing contempt for her foes. She stopped and raised her hand, speaking an eldritch word that sent a shiver down Dragon's spine, as if someone had walked over her grave. A blast of fire shot from her hand into one of the piles of crates the Corsairs were hiding behind, destroying it and killing the marines hiding behind it.

Dragon swore. Of _course,_ the bitch was some sort of sorceress! She'd promised Blake the first shot, but hell, Blake couldn't blame her for trying to take the bitch out, could she? Dragon centered her cannon on the woman in red, but before she could fire a shot, Blake made her move.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Blake appeared behind the cultist leader, one of her swords sliding towards her target for the killing blow. Somehow the woman sensed her approach, turning halfway to face Blake, only to stagger back as Blake's blow severed her left arm.

The woman fell at the edge of one the spawning pools, shoving her still-bleeding stump into the roiling blackness. There was a manic glee in her eyes as she stood, gazing at her new Grimm arm. She laughed and turned again to face Blake, her horrific limb snapping out and knocking Blake flying with its claws. Blake rolled to her feet and readied her weapons, still determined to kill the woman despite having lost the element of surprise. Before she could act, a giant, wintry armored figure dropped down in front of her out of nowhere, knocking the cultist leader to the ground with a single blow of its greatsword. The giant raised its sword again, stabbing at where the sorceress had fallen, only to have her roll out of the way.

Dragon stood there in shock. She'd only known one person who could call up things like that giant, and she was de-

Then she saw it. Standing on top of one of the cultist shuttles was White Heron, surrounded by a glowing white aura, her face covered by a strip of cloth instead of a mask. And Dragon was reminded of how the Schnees had won the throne of the empire.

Long, long ago, the clan that would one day become the House of Schnee had held some of the mightiest battle-mages anyone had known. Although wars were now fought with starships and blasters instead of swords and bows, that power still flowed in their veins.

And today, for the first time in centuries, a Schnee had come to war.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Since the Corsairs all have neural implants, and tend to use them a lot for instant messaging, I had to come up with a notation for that. So this is the format I came up with:
> 
> [sender]#[recipients]: Message
> 
> So a message from Ruby to Yang and Blake might look like this:
> 
> Ruby#Yang, Blake: Hello, world!

For an instant, the universe seemed to hold its breath, Heron and the cultist sorceress staring at each other, sizing each other up. Then, without a word, the sorceress called a black blade shot with crimson lightning out of nowhere and leaped to the attack, Heron meeting her charge with her Corsair's blade. The two met in midair, held there for a moment, then fell back, landing on the ground and charging each other again.

Dragon stood transfixed until a blast from a cultist rifle went zipping past her helmet. Swearing, she turned her cannon toward the cultists assaulting the marines' position, hosing fire into their charge to shatter it. Dragon Blake: _You okay, Blake?_

Blake#Dragon: _Yeah, ow. That sorceress hits like a truck. Sorry I missed, but we found Heron. Is that the kind of stuff you learned at combat school? I wish I'd gone._

Dragon#Blake: _I can, but I don't have the gear for it now, and Heron's better than I am. Might need to pick up the leftovers anyway. Just find a place to lay low until we can get to you._

Blake#Dragon: _Bullshit. Can't let you do all the work, what sort of faithful Corsair wife would I be?_

Dragon#Blake: _You...you never use that word, told me not to use it either._

Blake#Dragon: _It's just...I always wanted my parents to be at my wedding, and I didn't think that would be possible. But now...Yang Xiao Long, will you marry me?_

Dragon Blake: _Blake Belladonna, I love you more than life itself, and it would please me to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I will marry you. Hell, we'll invite every Corsair in a light year._

Blake#Dragon: _Sounds like it will be the social event of the year._

Dragon took a deep breath. Now for a somewhat more...delicate conversation.

Dragon#Blossom: _Sis, I have wonderful news and not-so-wonderful news. Heron is alive, but_ _ **do not**_ _message her right now. She's currently going at it hammer-and-tongs with some cultist sorceress. Oh, and Blake and I are getting married._

Blossom#Dragon: _**What?!**_ _Why aren't you helping her?_

Dragon#Blossom: _I don't have the gear for it or I would be! In hindsight, not replacing my gauntlets might have been a mistake. Also, busy commanding marines._

Blossom#Dragon: _Okay, I forgive you. And...thanks, and congratulations. Heron and I will both be there. Gotta go, some pirates just decided to try and be clever._

* * *

Heron fell back from their initial exchange with a feral snarl. She hadn't expected anything from it, of course; the point had been to meet her opponent's charge head-on, proving they were evenly matched.

"My, you are a strong one. And well-trained, too; better than I've come to expect from Corsairs. Pity to have to kill you, I don't suppose I could convince you to join us?" The woman came at Heron with a low feint to the left before bringing her blade up for a stab at Heron's chest.

Heron snorted, seeing through the feint and blocking the stab, her own blade glowing blue-white. "No thanks, I think I like our medical plan better. Cybernetics instead of Grimm bits, and then there's the death benefits." There was something familiar about the woman's voice... She brought her blade up, slashing at the sorceress's face, making her jump back.

The sorceress laughed, coming at Heron with a series of quick, small strikes, testing her defenses. "Pardon me, I don't think I've got the etiquette right, but I think we've met before...Princess Weiss. At combat school, before you went off to that provincial little hellhole, what was its name, Beacon?"

Heron back-flipped, using glyphs to send out a set of blasts that bracketed the sorceress, forming spiked ice crystals around her. _Now_ she knew why the woman seemed familiar. "You never did have any manners, Cinder. Even if you're dead certain you know who a Corsair was before, you never call them by name. They just might kill you for the presumption."

Cinder looked at the ice crystals around her, laughing. "If this is your best try, I don't think I have anything to fear. You missed, Princess."

"Did I?" Heron brought her blade up before her face, closing her eyes in concentration as white runes glowed along the blade. The crystals exploded, catching Cinder between their blasts.

Heron stood, blade at the ready, waiting for the cloud of mist left by the blast to clear. She was _not_ about to be foolish enough to go in there after Cinder.

With a scream of rage, Cinder charged out of the cloud at Heron, bringing her eldritch blade down for a one-handed overhand chop. Pathetic. Heron smirked and dodged to Cinder's right, bringing her own blade across for a strike at Cinder's side. Even as Cinder staggered back from the blow, Heron couldn't help but notice that the sorceress's Grimm arm hung limply at her side. "Look at yourself, you're a mess. Always so composed, and now your arm's gone, your hair's an utter disaster, and I think your makeup's smudged. Do you want to take a moment to fix yourself up? I can wait to finish handing you your ass."

"My arm's just fine, have a look." Cinder swiped at Heron with her Grimm arm, Heron knocking it aside with her Corsair's blade. "Honestly, Weiss, I'm surprised to see you as a Corsair. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Aren't you daddy's darling little princess anymore?"

Heron snorted. "I am ten times the Schnee than he ever dreamed of being. Look behind you if you want to see why."

"Oh please, like I'm going to fall for that old tr-" Heron's summoned knight had finally caught up with them, smashing its blade down on Cinder and driving her to her knees. Before Heron could deliver a killing blow, the sorceress chanted again and a wave of fire exploded out from her, sending Heron's knight to oblivion and knocking her flying.

Heron rolled to a stop at the edge of one of the summoning pools. Cinder stood over her, a foot planted to shove Heron into the pool. "Something that may be of immediate interest to you: The more powerful the sacrifice we make to these pools, the more powerful the Grimm we summon. I wonder what we'll get for you? Let's find, out, shall we?" Before Cinder could finish shoving her into the pool, Heron slapped a hand down on the floor of the landing cavern, calling forth a glyph that sent out a wave of frost, freezing Grimm and cultists in place, sending Cinder staggering back again.

Heron stood, her Corsair blade at full extension, leveled at Cinder Fall. "You never do change, do you? You're still as cheap and tawdry as ever, overly impressed with your own cleverness, in love with the sound of your own voice. I have met and loved, in her own words, 'a nothing girl from at best a middling house' that is a thousand times as great as you could ever hope to be."

There was madness in Cinder's laughter as she stood upright. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. For I have seen the majesty of the dark lady, Salem, and she will see precious 'nothing girl,' your whole empire, burned to ash. And she has given me power that is terrible and wonderful to behold. Observe." Cinder spread her arms wide, chanting as the summoning pools around her began to bubble, only to go break off, grunting in pain as Heron shot her in the chest with her blade's built-in pulse weapon.

"Oh please, how _stupid_ do you think I am?" Heron charged, swinging her blade at Cinder, only to have the sorceress block it with her Grimm arm. Cinder fell back, clutching her arm as it leaked smoke. "Did you honestly think I'd let you call up more Grimm to turn loose? And that arm of yours is just pathetic. Your Aura can't protect it; it's Grimm. Even cybernetics can be protected by your Aura. No, I think we'll finish this, just you and me."

"That, _huff,_ will, _huff,_ suit me just fine."

* * *

Neptune shook his head as he peered around the corner at the wreck of Heron's fighter. Half a dozen pirates were huddled behind it, looking scared out of their damn minds. Unfortunately, Sun and Neptune were hiding _behind_ the pirates, rendering their cover moot. "So, plan?"

"Stun em," Sun replied, setting his weapon to, well, stun. "Prisoners are nice, and if Heron's alive, we don't want to kill her trying to rescue her."

"Good point, good point. On three, then, One, two, thr-"

"Hey, are you guys Corsairs?"

Standing behind them was a middle-aged lizard Faunus who'd seen better days. "And if we are?" Neptune replied, aiming his rifle anywhere but at their visitor. Neptune#Sun: _And how did he sneak up on us?_

Sun#Neptune: _Simple. You were too busy daydreaming about my abs to notice._

"Easy, easy." The pirate raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I just wanted to surrender. Those guys over there, too. We don't fancy our odds in a standoff between you and the cultists." He looked sheepish. "They actually sent me out to look for some Corsairs to surrender to. The cultists...they've been capturing people and sacrificing us."

"Sacrificing you? Why?" Sun wasn't bothering to be subtle about anything today; his weapon snapped up to aim straight at the pirate's chest.

"I don't know, honest. All I know is some of us got away and spread the word."

"Alrighty, here's the deal. You walk over there and tell everyone to drop their weapons. We'll come over, grab the guns, and then we'll sort out the rest, okay?" Neptune gave the pirate a wide, friendly grin.

The pirate nodded, running around the corner and yelling at the other pirates. The pirates yelled out to someone Sun and Neptune couldn't see. Soon there were almost twenty pirates kneeling on the deck, hands behind their heads, their weapons in a neat little pile on the deck. Neptune kept an eye on them as Sun crept around the wreck to check the fighter.

Sun#Dragon, Neptune: _We found the fighter wreck, but no Heron. Looks like she ejected. No telling where she is now. On the upside, we have pirate prisoners. Seems the cultists are sacrificing them if they catch them._

Dragon#Sun, Neptune: _Sorry, forgot about you guys! Heron's alive, and currently tangling with some cultist sorceress. Think it's personal, they're doing a lot of chatting. Roger on the sacrificing, I saw it too. They were summoning Grimm. Hang on to the prisoners and call for evac._

"So, are the Corsairs hiring?" The original pirate they'd talked to spoke up. "All of a sudden, I'm feeling a real need for a career change." Sun and Neptune both rolled their eyes at this.

* * *

Blossom hadn't been kidding when she said some of the pirates had decided to be clever. They'd taken a page from the Corsair book and decided to group up and jump in all at once, instead of coming in one or two at a time. Unfortunately, this wasn't working out as well as they'd hoped. Between the normal drift from hyperspace travel, the kick from the mass of the anchorage, and the hyperspace mines the Corsairs were still scattering around liberally, they arrived nowhere near each other. It did, however, 'complicate the tactical situation' just a bit, as Ironwood had observed.

The space around the anchorage had devolved into pure chaos. Blossom was struggling to keep things straight. If it hadn't been for the absolute reference provided by her tactical holo tank, they could have been in downtown Atlas City for all she knew!

She spared a moment to glance at the icon representing the anchorage in her tactical display. The three people she most held dear in the universe were there, fighting for their lives, and here she was, fighting on her own instead of beside them. No helping it. Each of them had their own part to play in this battle.

Right now _Crescent Rose_ was playing escort to _Hour of the Wolf._ The _Wolf_ had sustained heavy damage and was jumping out to make repairs. Suddenly a pirate cruiser popped out of nowhere, fighters launching from its belly. "Rapid fire, all mounts! Protect _Hour of the Wolf!_ " Blossom ordered, and the dance began again.

* * *

Heron danced to one side, decapitating a Beowolf and relieving a Beringel of its arm in the same motion. Between her and Dragon's marines, they'd kept the cultists from summoning more Grimm, but Cinder was somehow calling the ones that were already here back to harass the Corsairs.

This was frustrating. She rolled to one side, taking temporary cover behind a stack of crates as a Nevermore swooped over, firing a volley of razor-sharp feathers. _Can someone please do something about that damn Nevermore?_ Heron sent over the local tactical net.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then: Dragon#Heron, Blake: _Glad to hear from you. I'll see what we can do. How are things going with that sorceress bitch?_

Blake#Heron, Dragon: _Hurry up and take her out! I'm getting tired of playing hide and seek with the cultists. Dragon and I have a wedding to plan!_

Heron rolled her eyes. Heron#Blake, Dragon: _I thought you two were already- You know what, never mind. I'm too busy trying to kill her to argue about it now. She keeps throwing Grimm between me and her to slow me down._ Heron jumped out of her cover as a Boarbatusk crashed into the crates, sliding her blade between the beast's armored plates to dispatch it, then tossing another into the air with a glyph and beheading it before it could hit the ground. _Okay, I think I've got a clear shot at her now. Only half a dozen Beowolves between us._

Heron charged, sending out a shockwave of ice before her, freezing the Beowolves in place, then slashing at Cinder before she had a chance to recover from the blast.

Cinder called up another of her ebon blades, blocking Heron's strike. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd run away, crying your friends to save you. Honestly, I'm getting bored of playing with you."

"You couldn't win by cheating, so you don't want to play anymore? Why am I not surprised?" Heron forced her way closer, bringing her face-to-face with Cinder. "You know what? I take back what I said earlier. Your makeup suits you perfectly; it makes you look like even more of a cheap whore."

Enraged, Cinder fired off a point-blank blast of flame into Heron's chest, sending her flying backward, blade spinning out of her grasp. "And what are you going to do now, hmm? Wait for one of your pathetic friends to save you? No, this pathetic assault is going to fail, and you and your friends are all going to die. And then I'll take everything that's left behind and use it to kill the rest of the Corsairs. Or maybe I'll keep you alive, frozen in a cryotube on my wall, thawing you out every so often so you can enjoy how miserably you've failed."

Heron levered herself up on one elbow, her back to Cinder. "No, I don't think so. See, I've still got a couple of things you don't. The first being honor, something you can't even begin to comprehend. You don't fight for anything but yourself, and it weakens you, limits you. You don't see the strength it lets you draw from others."

"Oh, I understand your pathetic honor just fine. It makes for such a lovely exploitable weakness. So tell me, what's the other thing you've got that I don't? It must be wonderful to make you feel so brave, even as you're about to die."

"A pair of heavy plasma pistols." Heron rolled onto her back, a pistol in each hand, rapid-firing them into Cinder even as Heron found her feet. Cinder stumbled back under the assault, her already-depleted Aura barely able to keep up. Finally, Cinder fell, Heron's fused and useless pistols dropping to the ground.

Heron grabbed her Corsair blade from where it had fallen, pumping ice dust into the blade even as Cinder raised a hand weakly to defend herself. "Playtime is over, Cinder." Heron brought the blade down, driving it through Cinder's body and into the rock floor of the landing cavern.

Heron was still leaning on the blade, gasping for breath, when Blake ran up to her. "Sorry I wasn't more help. I...I never got that kind of training."

"It's fine." Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, Heron's _everything_ hurt. She hadn't fought at that level in a long time, and it showed. "Maybe...maybe Dragon, Blossom, and I can teach you some. Need to get you a proper weapon, though."

"Yeah, I never replaced Ember Celica after Blossom and I ran for our lives." Dragon stepped up, looking down at the battered, scorched remains of Cinder Fall. "Want a picture for a souvenir? Seemed like you knew her, from all the talking you did."

Heron's laugh was weary down to her soul. "You might say that. Think psycho stalker social ladder-climbing would-be girlfriend. Won't fault her ambition, but I have standards and she didn't meet them."

'How so?" Dragon's tone was amused.

"I don't date people whose crotch should be declared a biohazard." Heron activated her implant as Blake and Dragon chuckled, the marines taking up security positions. Heron#Blossom: _Not dead yet. Very, very tired. Can I pass out now?_

Blossom#Heron: _Have I told you I love you today?_

Heron#Blossom: _Not in what feels like about a hundred years. I want this bitch scraped off the ground and mounted on my wall._ One of the marines poked Cinder's body with the barrel of his rifle, almost as if he wasn't quite sure she was dead. He jumped back as the corpse drew a ragged breath.

"Holy fuck, I think she's alive!"

"That's a solvable problem," Dragon growled, raising her cannon.

Heron shook her head. "No, if she's alive, shove her in a cryotube and mount her on my wall." Heron Blossom: _Unless there are objections?_

* * *

The battle in the landing cavern died down fairly rapidly after that. Without Cinder to lead them and the Grimm to bolster their numbers, the cultists were quickly overrun. The surviving Corsair assault teams consolidated, resupplying and setting up field hospitals for their wounded.

Dragon's team was making their way down a broad passageway, senses on the alert. This was more the sort of battle the marines were trained for, short, sharp battles in tight quarters. There was reason Corsair rifles mounted a bayonet and the marines were trained to use them.

Movement above them drew attention, and an oddly-dressed woman with pink-and-brown hair dropped down from a catwalk overhead. Smiling, she marched towards Dragon without a word, a lacy umbrella perched on one shoulder. "That's far enough," Dragon snapped, the marines on either side covering the woman. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The woman bowed deeply, holding out two photographs. A marine took them from her, handing them over to Dragon. Dragon was glad the full mask she wore kept the expression on her face from showing. The first picture was a still of Bake's parents that looked to have been captured from the video that led them to Night's Haven Anchorage. The other was a still image of Weiss, in full court regalia. "Okay, I see the pictures. So?"

The woman produced a scroll, typing out a message that appeared in holographic blue letters. _I am proposing a trade. Bring Weiss Schnee to me, and I will give you Ghira and Kali Belladonna._

* * *

"I don't like this," Blake muttered. Blossom had already made her opinions known—at length—via implant message.

"Oh hush, Blake. You want your parents at your wedding, don't you?" Heron sighed. "And it's not like you and Dragon and a bunch of marines won't be nearby in case this woman pulls some stunt or another." Heron sighed and composed herself. She'd managed to find a loaner mask and a replacement blade, but she still felt oddly under-dressed without her plasma pistols. Maybe she'd see about getting an assault rifle from someone.

Heron stepped through the hatch, every inch the proper Imperial princess she'd once striven to be. She nodded to Dragon. "Has the woman said anything else?"

"Nada. Keeps refusing to speak more until she sees you. And she doesn't talk, she types on a scroll and the words appear over the scroll." Dragon glared to where four marines were keeping the woman under guard. "Honestly, she's pretty much the most polite pirate I've ever seen. Turned down three of my marines asking her to dinner with as much grace as, well you."

Heron nodded and turned toward the woman, but before she could take a step, Blake grabbed Heron's arm. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. Call it penance for what my actions unleashed on Dragon." Heron shook off Blake's hand and marched toward the woman,. "Well?" she snapped at the woman. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

The woman looked up at Heron, smiling, and Heron cursed herself for not recognizing her sooner. If nothing else, the hair should have given the woman's identity away. _"Neo?_ What are you doing here? And why do you have Blake's parents?"

Neo smiled, hit a button on her scroll, and then knelt at Heron's feet.


	13. Chapter 13

Blake#Dragon, Heron: _Wait, you know her too? How many lunatics do you know? Maybe we don't want you hanging out with the captain..._

Heron#Blake, Dragon: _Oh, don't be ridiculous._ Speaking aloud, Heron laid a hand on Neo's shoulder. "Neo was my, my maid and bodyguard, before. She was the unacknowledged daughter of one of my father's political allies, kept around in case she became useful. He used her as a threat to his legitimate children, saying he'd name her his heir if they didn't behave. I...words can't describe the rage I felt when I learned her story. So to give her a position in her own right, I took her into my personal household, first as my maid, then as my bodyguard after she'd been properly trained."

Neo peered up shyly at Heron as her fingers worked her scroll. _After you disappeared, I was banished from the palace. My father had no more use for me, so I drifted for a time. But there's little place in society for a mute. Eventually, I fell in with a criminal element and came into the employ of a man named Roman Torchwick. Where did you go, my lady? And how did you become an_ outcast _and a Corsair?_

"Neo, those aren't questions you should ask an _outcast_ , especially not a Corsair. It's likely to end in violence. But for you, I will explain, later, in private. So," Heron reached down and lifted Neo's chin, bringing her eyes to meet Heron's own, "what do you intend to do now? I'm fairly certain you've burned your bridges with the pirates."

_I would be in your service again, my lady, if you will have me._

"Neo...among Corsairs, I am no-one important, just a common fighter pilot. I don't need a maid or a bodyguard. I'm rather lethal in my own right."

_Then I will join your crew and fight alongside you until you choose to reclaim your rightful place._

"That's...we'll talk about that later, okay? Part of what I need to explain."

A hatch opened cautiously on the side of the corridor, then flung wide as the pair behind it charged towards Blake. "Blake, dear! There you are! She said you were here, but we still didn't think-"

"Mom! Dad!" Blake met their charge with open arms, tears in her eyes. "I-I never expected to see you again!"

Ghira smiled. "When Neo said she'd found you, that she wanted to reunite us, I could hardly believe it. But to finally see you again, that's even more unbelievable."

"Wait.." Blake turned to look at Neo. "You're the one that sent us all that information on the pirates? But why?"

_A gift for my lady. I needed a way to reach her, without endangering myself, so I sent all the information I had gathered to her captain. I was getting ready to betray Roman Torchwick to the Navy in any case. Gods, he is a self-important toad._

Dragon cleared her throat. "I, uh, I don't want to interrupt, but maybe we need to get Blake's parents somewhere safe? This is a combat zone, and we've got a job to do."

Scowling, Blake held out a hand to Dragon. "Mom, dad, this mood-killer is Golden Dragon, my life-partner and soon to be my wife."

"Wife?" Ghira looked embarrassed. "Sorry, it's rather hard to tell in that heavy armor."

"Sir, ma'am, it's very nice to meet you, and I love Blake with all my heart and soul, but we need to get you somewhere safe. There's a reason for all this hardware my marines are toting around."

Blake#Dragon: _Why so stiff? It's just my parents._

Dragon#Blake: _Exactly, they're your parents. I'm worried what they're going to think of me._

Blake#Dragon: _Just be yourself. You'll be fine._

"Of course," Kali said with a smile. "You don't need us in the way if things get lively, now do you? Go, take care of things, Blake. We'll see you again soon." Kali hugged Blake, then awkwardly wrapped her arms around Dragon's armor. "It looks like you've been taking good care of my little girl," she whispered. "Just keep it up."

"I will," Dragon whispered back, returning Kali's hug.

After Blake's parents had left, Dragon looked at Heron and Neo. "I think we'd best get the two of you out of here as well. No offense, but you're not equipped or trained for this."

Neo snorted and stamped her foot. _Nonsense. What is your next objective, and how can I help you meet it?_

Dragon paused in thought. _Okay, let's see what she has up her sleeve._ "Next up is the command center. Take control of life support, power, navigation, everything else. We should be nearby, assuming your information is correct."

 _We're not far at all. And I may be able to help, assuming you'll trust me a little._ Neo produced a keycard with a flourish. _I happen to have access to the command center. And I"m fairly certain I'm just about the last person Roman Torchwick expects to betray him._

* * *

Dragon watched on the flexi cam as Neo ran down the corridor, 'fleeing' from the marines in pursuit. The pirates guarding the command center even provided cover fire for her, the marines breaking off the pursuit. Heron snorted. "Anyone who knows Neo wouldn't fall for that."

"Let's be glad the idiots on guard don't know her, then."

Inside Neo found Roman fuming. "Neo! There you are, at least you haven't failed me yet. These _morons_ —" Roman gave the crew of the command center a scathing glare—"tell me the drive won't be ready to jump for another hour. Worthy every cent, they are. So we just have to hold out until then. If we can't, well, I always have my own shuttle, don't I? Oh, I'm not worried, Neo, not as long as I have you," he finished, ruffling her hair. "So what have you been up to, hmm? I know it's been a bit of a mess today, I bet you've been wreaking all sorts of havoc out there, putting a whole bunch of Corsairs out my misery."

At that point, Neo decided she'd had enough of Roman Torchwick's shit forever and shot him in the face with the pocket stun pistol she'd been hiding in her left hand. He had just enough time to look surprised before he hit the deck unconscious, his trademark bowler hat rolling away to fetch up against a bulkhead.

Neo barely dove for cover before the pirates in the command center reacted, shots filling the air where she'd been. She reached under her jacket and pulled out a pair of flash-bangs in each hand, tossing them towards the front of the console with a prayer.

Outside, Dragon saw the pirates guarding the command center turn towards the hatch. _"Now!"_ she yelled, charging around the corner, her heavy burst cannon spitting fire at the pirates. She wasn't going to hit anything at this range while running; the point was to pin them down.

Her marines followed her over the pirates' barricade, pulse rifles spitting fire, bayonets finding their home in the flesh. Marines arrayed themselves on either side of the hatch, then the second one in line on the left reached up and opened the hatch, the first marines in line swinging their weapons around the edge of the hatch.

Inside, Neo was pinned down behind a console, occasionally darting around the edge to fire at her attackers. Seeing the marines, she shot them a thumbs-up with a smile, then scooted further into cover. Let the people wearing armor and carrying assault rifles take care of things for a moment.

After the pirates had been taken out, Dragon stepped over to the main console. Flipping on the intercom, she cleared her throat. _"Attention pirates, this is Golden Dragon, addressing you from the command center of Night's Haven Anchorage. Some of you have already encountered the Corsair marine assault teams now taking control of this facility. For those of you that haven't yet had the pleasure, consider yourselves fortunate. You're going to be given the opportunity to surrender. Resist, and things will get unpleasant very quickly. You see, we now control life support, which includes the air and gravity, trivial things, really. I suggest you not take too long to consider your position._

" _For the Faunus slaves held aboard this station, you are now free. The Corsairs will provide safe passage to the world of your choice. You are safe._

" _Night's Haven Anchorage will threaten no-one anymore."_

* * *

Blossom saluted Admiral Barut as she stepped into the command center. "You asked to see me, sir?"

Barut nodded. "Ah, Captain Blossom. How's your ship? Did you take any heavy damage?"

" _Crescent Rose_ will need some time in the yard—" _again,_ Blossom thought—"but she's fit to fight and fly, sir."

"Relax, Captain," Barut laughed. "I'm glad your ship and crew came through this relatively unarmed, but for now, I have another job for you. One that will require your full attention, so Stalwart Ironwood will be in command of her for the time being."

"Yes, sir." Inside, Blossom cringed. Her lovely _Crescent Rose_ under the command of another? Sure, she trusted Ironwood, but her baby-!

* * *

Lieutenant Russel Thrush was, to be blunt, bored out of his mind. System control in the Atlas system itself was a prestigious post, it was true, but when all was said and done, staring at a sensor scope was staring at a sensor scope no matter where you were. And there were very few unannounced visitors here; even the most highly-ranked and self-important nobility tended to listen when the emperor himself said there were no exceptions to the traffic regulations in the Atlas system. Over the freshly-executed body of the last nobleman to decide they didn't apply to him, no less.

So when his console displayed a hyper emergence that was _unbelievable_ in magnitude, Thrush could be forgiven for freezing in panic. Ships didn't come that big, not ever, and even if it did exist, if someone brought a ship that big into Atlas unannounced, it could only mean-

"What the hell is that?" barked the captain in command of system control, leaning over Thrush's shoulder.

"Hell if I know! Sir," Thrush added as an afterthought as he worked his console to refine the contact. "I can tell you it's enormous and unannounced. I think we might want to pass the word to Home Fleet, Sir."

The officer snorted. "An emergence that big, the Admiral's probably already headed for the bridge in her nightgown."

"Sir?" One of the lieutenants in the communication section spoke up. "We're receiving a transmission on the standard traffic control channel."

" _Atlas traffic control, this is Captain Crimson Blossom, military governor of Night's Haven Anchorage. My apologies for arriving unannounced, but we didn't know how fast this thing actually was in hyperspace. 'Glacial' is a good word to describe its speed, in case you were wondering. Please alert the Imperial judiciary; we have some pirates to deliver to you."_

* * *

Fleet Admiral Lyon Adel jerked awake as a hand touched his shoulder. "Admiral? We're here."

Adel shook himself awake and yawned. He'd been awakened in the middle of the night by the arrival of the pirate anchorage. After making sure the immediate situation was stable, he'd been about to go back to bed when the _Emperor_ had called to find out what was going on. In the end, there hadn't been any choice but to say "Yes, Sire," and go visit the anchorage himself.

At least he'd gotten to have a little fun along the way. "Sleeping on the job, Lieutenant? That's not going to look good on your next evaluation."

Coco's eyes flickered open, and she groaned. "Daaad, why did you get me out of bed for this? You could have let me sleep. And besides, you fell asleep before I did."

"Firstly, because here and now, we're not father and daughter, but rather Admiral Adel and his rather nepotistically appointed aide, _Lieutenant_ Coco Adel, who just so happens to be his daughter. And second, sleeping while we're in flight is senior officer's privilege. As my aide, you should have stayed awake for critical updates on the situation. Or not stayed up drinking in the first place. After all, you could be called to duty at any time," the admiral finished with a laugh as he unstrapped himself.

Coco rolled her eyes as she undid her own harness. Okay, yeah maybe those last few rounds of drinks had been a mistake, but she'd been having fun, and one of the other junior officers there was kinda cute.

"Any updates, pilot?" the admiral said as he stood and stretched. It had been a _long_ shuttle flight and he was stiff.

"Several corsair vessel transports have arrived and docked with the anchorage. We've been told it's mostly personnel transfers, medical personnel, and engineering teams. Apparently, it's still a real mess in there."

Waiting for them as they exited the ramp was a Captain Crimson Blossom. "Captain Blossom, it's a pleasure to meet you. Or should that be _Governor_ Blossom, all things considered."

"Only temporary. Since it was intel my crew gathered that led us here, and one of my marine strike teams that captured the command center, Fleet Admiral Barut decided to place me in command while we moved it. And, well, Captain just doesn't fit command of something like this, does it? Lord and Lady, this place has _shopping malls._ That reminds me, I need a dress for a wedding."

"Well, as soon as we get everything sorted out, you can hand this mess over to the Empire and be on your way. Oh, and do pass my best wishes to whoever is getting married."

"My sister and her life-partner. They've decided to make things official now. As for handing this place over..." Blossom sighed and paused to make sure a working party moving by was out of earshot. "The Captain's Council is debating their position on the fate of the anchorage. Some of them want to keep it for ourselves, turn it into a Corsair anchorage. In the last few decades, the fleet has expanded a lot, and we could use the shipyards. Then there are those who want to hand it over to the Empire as you suggest. And then there's the third option, which started out as a crazy suggestion but it's getting a lot of traction."

"Third option?

"Some of the Faunus slaves that were held here want to keep it for themselves. Turn it into a free port somewhere. One friendly to the Corsairs and the Empire, on the right side of the law, of course."

"How many...forgive me, how many slaves did the pirates have here?"

"Thousands, from various colonies and settlements across the empire. It looks like the pirates were using this as a central storage facility for them, then selling them to various Imperial interests as 'indentured labor.'"

Adel's face grew grim. Labor contracts like that were a bad joke; they usually were slanted very heavily in the favor of the 'employer' and made it almost impossible for the indentured person to escape their debt. "I see. Well, unofficially, I think that might be a good idea. Refitted, repaired, and rearmed, this anchorage could be beneficial to the empire."

"I think we've got a few things to sway things their way with the Empire as well. You won't believe how many pirate vessels we destroyed taking this place; they're _still_ doing search and rescue back where the battle happened. And then there's the sheer number of prisoners we took. Ah, exhibit A of said prisoners." Blossom stepped over to a cryotube that was under guard, wiping the condensation off the glass. "Look familiar? I hear she's quite famous."

Adel leaned forward and peered through the glass, a snarl forming on his face. "Cinder Fall. Over the past half-decade, she's become one of the most infamous leaders of the Outer Dark. They broke her family over this, and she just laughed. What was she doing here? And how in the hell did you take her down? Her powers are...incredible."

"One of my crew defeated her in single combat. I've seen video; it was quite a battle. As for what she was doing here, you'll have to ask Roman Torchwick. He's sitting in a cell somewhere around here."

"Him too? It sounds like you've done quite a number on the pirates here. Is she," the admiral gestured at the cryotube, "is she alive?"

"Alive-ish, I think. She survived having an arm severed, full-force Aura combat, having two heavy plasma pistols fired into her at point-blank range until they fused, and being impaled with a Dust-augmented Corsair blade, and she was still breathing. The council wants her handed over as quickly as possible. We can discuss the reward later."

"There won't be a whole lot of discussion about the reward if I have anything to say about it. Tombaugh Anchorage alone-!" Admiral Adel nodded. "Lieutenant, please inform the Imperial Judiciary to make preparations for the transfer of Cinder Fall, and let them know that if it takes more than a day for the bounty on her to clear, I will be discussing it with them _personally._ And my legal team will consist of marines in power armor. Feel free to quote me word-for-word."

"Yes, sir." Coco pulled out her scroll and started tapping away.

"One thing, Governor Blossom. You said one of your crew defeated Cinder in single combat? Would it be possible for me to meet them? I'd like to extend my personal thanks."

"I doubt it, Admiral. They're still recovering from that battle and other injuries sustained in the fighting."

"Please, I insist. If necessary, I'll go to them, wherever they are. I have...I have my own ghosts to appease, with Cinder Fall's defeat."

"I understand. Many Corsairs will be taking the Last Walk today. I can put in the request, but ultimately it's up to them." Blossom closed her eyes for a moment to send the message, then nodded when she received a response. "They'll meet us in the command center shortly."

Waiting in the command center was a slender woman, wearing a full mask and a flight suit, a Corsair's blade at her hip. "I understand you asked to see me, sir."

"Yes, I wanted to extend my own personal thanks to the woman that defeated Cinder Fall." Adel held out his hand. "I'm fairly certain we haven't met before, but I hope this won't be the last time we meet."

"Doubtful. I'm a Corsair fighter pilot of little note. My name is White Heron." The woman's grip was firm but gentle. "I don't intend to visit Atlas again."

"I doubt you will be 'of little note' for long, considering your defeat of one of the Outer Dark's most infamous sorcerers. Well, good journey, then."

* * *

Coco watched as the shuttle lifted off from her father's lake house. She was puzzled why he'd had the pilot drop them here, instead of at Navy HQ. There had to be a freighter-load of paperwork and days of meetings ahead of him, dealing with the Corsair's capture of Night's Haven Anchorage. So why were they stopping for lunch hours from the capital?

"Come on, Coco. Let's go see how the autochef screws up lunch today," her father said as he led the way inside from the landing pad. No matter how expensive or well-programmed the unit, her father never liked food from an autochef, claiming it tasted weird.

Inside, he tapped away at a control panel built into the coffee table. "Okay, good. Now we're secure."

"Secure? I don't understand..." Coco pulled off her ever-present sunglasses and regarded her father with a puzzled look.

"Coco, I'm about to throw all protocol out the airlock. I recognized that pilot that took out Cinder Fall, and I'm damn sure you did too. Hells, maybe you already knew Weiss Schnee had become a Corsair before we walked into that room!" Lyon poured himself a drink and sat down on the couch, eyes fixed, on his daughter, waiting for her reaction.

Sighing, Coco turned to look out the window. "Yes, I recognized her. But we have to pretend it's not her, don't we? That's how being an _outcast_ works. And what makes you think I knew where she was before today?"

"Because I know damn well you're a deep-cover agent for Corsair intelligence, have been for years, ever since that year-long 'leave of absence' you took after Rasael died."

Coco's head drooped, her chin resting on her chest. "How did you know? What gave me away?"

"Finding your Corsair's blade was the first clue. That hidden compartment in your aircar isn't as well-hidden as you'd like to think, young lady. They found it during a fleet security review, and luckily the person that found it came to me instead of reporting it. I covered it up while I decided what to do.

"In the end, I decided that even if you were a very well-placed agent for Corsair intelligence, there wasn't any harm in it. We watch the Corsairs, they watch us, it's as inevitable as the grip of a black hole. And better an agent planted on me that I knew about than one I didn't."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Commander Zeris, but that's more of a fallback measure in case things got...lively."

Coco poured herself a drink and sat down facing her father, tossing her sunglasses on the table. "Okay, truth: Yes, I'm a Corsair, and yes, I've been spying on the Navy for them. But I didn't know where Weiss was before today, honest. They just... Shortly after her 'kidnapping', they asked me to pay special attention to any information about her. So what now?"

"Now... I assume you have some way of reporting in if something urgent comes up? Fine. Tell them your father knows about you and wants to open up a dialogue. The first message I have is for White Heron: Why are you where you are? I know that violates that damned Corsair protocol, but right now I don't really care. I need answers, Coco."

"I can... if I can disappear for a couple of hours, I can probably get that passed tonight. Don't ask how."

"I think we can arrange that. I'm probably going to be caught up in shouting matches with various self-important people well into the evening. Including the Emperor." Lyon turned his head toward the window, staring out across the lake. "Coco I...I hoped never to have this conversation. I don't like there being secrets between us. Anything else I need to know?"

"I'm married."

 _"What?"_ He turned to stare at Coco in shock. "How in the thousand hells did you manage to get married without me noticing?"

"It happened during the leave of absence. Kind of on impulse, but it's worked out."

"Must be hard, keeping a hidden relationship going. I assume they're a Corsair?" Coco nodded. "Do you have a picture?"

"Just one with me." Coco tapped on her scroll, accessing a secure archive. Velvet and Coco were standing on a beach somewhere, posing for the camera, Velvet's rabbit ears poking up through a sunhat. "Her name's Velvet."

"She's lovely, but not your usual type. I hope I can meet her someday."

"I hope so too."


	14. Chapter 14

"You walk a risky path, Admiral."

Lyon and Coco had been spending time at one of the open-air markets in the capital, leaving behind the responsibilities of their respective positions and enjoying spending time together as father and daughter. It was something they'd done since Coco was old enough to walk, although it was getting harder and harder to find the time as the years went by. This particular market focused on handcrafts, something Lyon found oddly fascinating. He thought it curious that anyone should dedicate their life to making by hand something any autofac could churn out by the shipload. But Coco loved things like this, and what father could say not to that?

He'd been examining the wares of a glassworker who hand-made the most exquisite little glass figurines when someone had bumped into him, almost knocking over. The blue-haired young man had helped the admiral steady himself, apologizing with a laugh, then said quietly, "Someone wants a word, Admiral," tilting his head towards a nearby ramada. Lyon's eyes had narrowed as he took in the Corsair's blade the man wore, and he nodded. He made his way to the ramada slowly, meandering instead of taking a direct route.

No-one was waiting at the ramada when he arrived, so he sat off to one side, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Now that he looked, the blue-haired man wasn't the only person wearing a Corsair's blade he saw. Over there two women, a black-haired Faunus and a blonde wearing an _outcast's_ mask, were checking out woodcarvings. Another _outcast_ woman, this one with red-tipped black hair was listening to a man playing a guitar. Overall there were more than a dozen Corsairs he could see and he'd be willing to bet there were at least that many he didn't know were there.

So it was to be that sort of a meeting, then. He'd be willing to bet the Imperial Palace that if the Corsairs didn't like how this meeting went, Admiral Lyon Adel was about to become another victim of the violence of the imperial capital, street crime really was no respecter of rank or position, oh my. Fine. He'd had a long life of service, and though he did have his regrets, he'd had the opportunity to make peace with most of them.

Lyon was idly wondering if his will needed updated when a motion out of the corner of his eye made him look up. White Heron stood there, her masked face regarding him with an air of uncertainty. She wore a simple blue dress that wouldn't have looked out of place on the streets of the capital, except for the addition of an _outcast_ 's mask and Corsair blade. Her hand rested on the blade's hilt; not a threat exactly, just a reminder. Lyon licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I know. But I find myself in a difficult position, trapped between obligations. So I'm looking for some... clarification."

Heron shook her head, sitting on the bench across from him, her hand absentmindedly smoothing out her skirt and making sure it was free of her blade. "I'm afraid we don't trust you enough to give you all the answers you want, not yet. Trust is something that has to be earned, and the last several Emperors and Fleet Admirals have done little to earn the trust of the Corsairs. But your daughter says we can trust your discretion, so I've decided to give you at least a little clarity.

"I am where I am by my own choice. I chose to become an _outcast_ and a Corsair. My father did something I cannot forgive, so I chose to stand apart from him."

"I see." Lyon paused to consider his next words carefully. "I will not ask what he did; that is between you and him. But I will assume it's not something trivial?"

"If he was standing here now, I would kill him for it." Heron's voice was so flat it made the admiral's blood run cold, her hand tightening on the hilt of her blade. "And you are correct that I won't discuss it with you. Not today, possibly not ever. But I will give you a small hint: _Atlas Ascendant._ Begin your search there. Two more things, Admiral. First, please don't be angry with your daughter over today. We didn't want her to have to choose between you and the Corsairs, so we didn't give her a choice." Heron's head turned to one side, and following her motion Lyon could see Coco sitting between the blue-haired man and a blonde, glancing nervously in his direction. "And second, will you give this to Coco for me?" Heron stood, pulling a folded sheet of hardcopy from inside her uniform tunic.

"I will. And thank you."

"Don't thank me for what I've done just yet. I think you'll find I've only added to your troubles." Heron turned and walked away into the market, being joined by who Lyon now recognized as Captain Crimson Blossom, the pair wandering away arm-in-arm.

As soon as the pair was out of sight, the blue-haired man laughed, slapping Coco on the back and standing to leave with his companion. Lyon's daughter came running over to the ramada, wrapping her arms around him in relief. "Dad, I'm sorry, they grabbed me in the crowd, told me to sit tight until White Heron was done talking to you."

"It's okay, I'm fine, and I'm not mad at you," he answered, wrapping his arms around Coco in return. "They didn't want to put you in a difficult position, that's all. Call it a kindness of sorts. But I did get some answers, something for Commander Zeris to look into, I think. Oh, and this is for you." Lyon passed the folded hardcopy to Coco. "I hope it's good news."

Coco blushed as she scanned the hardcopy. "It's a note from Velvet. She says her ship's going to be in the yard for a while, and wants to know if we might be able to arrange some time together."

"I'll turn in my admiral's stars if we can't manage that. Be a nice girl and I'll even let you use the lake house for some real privacy. Provided I get at least one dinner with my daughter-in-law that I've never met out of the deal."

"Daaad!"

* * *

A month later, Fleet Admiral His Lordship Lyon Adel found himself in the rather unique position of being invited to dinner at his own lake house. He accepted with all due grace, naturally, even going so far as to bring a bottle of wine he thought Coco might like. Honestly, if he didn't occasionally need somewhere to have an off-the-record conversation, he'd just give her the lake house. Or maybe he would anyway; he was getting a bit too old for this cloak-and-dagger nonsense.

He set his aircar down next to Coco's and a decidedly shabby-looking rental, skipping up the steps toward the main house humming a pop tune from his teenage years that he hadn't thought of in at least a decade. A smiling rabbit-eared woman opened the door before his hand could reach the handle, bowing him inside in greeting. "Hello, sir, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Firstly, don't 'sir' me, we're both decidedly out of uniform." She laughed at this; the sundress she wore bore about as much resemblance to a Corsair's uniform as it did a monk's robes. "And second of all, you're family. And family doesn't 'sir' family, at least out of uniform. Not to mention we're both from different services after all."

"Well, that's true." Velvet gestured toward the dining room. "How does Mister Adel sound?"

Lyon weighed it for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough, although I'm hoping eventually you'll be comfortable with calling me 'Lyon' or 'Dad.' Or you could call me what Coco does when we're out of uniform."

"Oh, what's that?"

"'Daaad!'" he deadpanned, imitating Coco's exasperated tone perfectly. They shared a laugh as they stepped across the foyer and into the dining room. Coco was just finishing setting dinner on the table. "Ah, there you are, Coco. Let's see how the autochef has managed to malfunction today."

Velvet reached over the table and poached Coco's sunglasses off her face. "No hiding your eyes today, love. And you didn't tell him?"

"Hey, give those back!" Coco squawked, darting around the table to reclaim them even as Velvet danced away from her laughing. Velvet tossed the glasses up to hang off the chandelier. "No hiding your eyes today, sunshine. And you still need to fess up to your dad."

"'Fess up' to what?" Coco's father asked, crossing his arms in mock irritation.

"I cooked dinner tonight. I am actually quite an accomplished chef," Coco answered, managing to glare at her wife for an eternity of five seconds before busting out laughing and stealing a kiss.

"Married to a Corsair, an agent for Corsair intelligence, and a capable cook? Any other secrets you're keeping from me?" Lyon shaking his head at his daughter.

"No, that about covers it." They ate, keeping the dinner conversation light and inconsequential. Finally, Coco's father gestured towards Velvet with his wineglass. "So, Velvet, how much longer is your ship going to be in yard hands? I want to give you two as much time together as practical, but I can only cover her absence for so long before people I can't silence start asking questions."

Velvet sighed and took Coco's hand, regret entering her voice. "I think we'll have to start spacing our time together a bit wider apart then. Captain Blossom assigned me here until-" She stopped, realizing she'd said something she probably shouldn't have.

"Ah, Captain Blossom? Do you know her? She's quite the capable captain, from everything I've heard. Are you on her ship, the _Crescent Rose?"_

"Uh..." Velvet's eyes flicked back and forth, looking for a way out. Finally, Coco gave her wife's hand a squeeze. "It's okay, Velvet. Dad knows about Heron, and he's keeping his mouth _firmly_ shut, right, Dad?"

"That's correct." Lyon reached out and laid a hand on the rabbit Faunus's shoulder. "Anything said here, stays with us until the grave. And beyond, if I could arrange that."

"R-Right," Velvet said with a nervous laugh. "Okay, I've been with Captain Blossom since Peltier, only she wasn't a captain then. I guess you could say I'm sort of a keel owner of _Crescent Rose_ since I was part of the first crew...

* * *

_I first met Blossom in Peltier. Our squadron was contracted to take care of a local infestation of White Fang pirates. We jumped into Peltier searching for the pirate base, only to be attacked on arrival by a heavy minefield, including hyperspace mines. Before we even knew we were under attack, our ships were broken and bleeding. We abandoned ship, but that was a mistake._

_I got tossed in with the other Faunus prisoners instead of with the Corsairs. White Fang pirates keep any human prisoners they get alive for 'entertainment' and eventual execution, but Faunus they try to convince to sign up. I was even more highly prized because I was already a trained shuttle pilot and a Corsair._

_I refused to sign on. You've only got to clean up after the White Fang once to know what kind of monsters they are. So I got even worse treatment than most of their prisoners, to encourage other Faunus to sign on._

_Eventually, Blossom staged a breakout. I'm not sure exactly how; I guess you'd have to ask her. And when the call went out for crews for the captured ships, I raised my hand without a thought. We proceeded to raise hell until the Corsairs were able to send help. The ship that would become_ Crescent Rose _ended up in the yard for refit and repair, and I became part of Captain Blossom's crew._

* * *

"She forgot to include the part where I didn't know what happened to my wife for almost two months. Remember when I suddenly took leave and dropped off the radar for two weeks about a year ago? I, uh, I ran off to see Velvet," Coco added, reaching up to pull down her sunglasses out of habit before she realized they were still hanging from the chandelier.

Her father nodded. "So what's your take on Captain Blossom, Velvet? Can I trust her?"

Velvet gave him an odd look. "Her loyalty to her crew is absolute. She knows she has to put us in danger, we're Corsairs after all, but _we_ know she won't put us in any more danger than she has to." She hesitated before continuing. "And if you're asking if we can trust her with Heron, the answer's yes, unconditionally."

"Good enough, then. I'll be seeing the both of them tomorrow, anyway."

Both Velvet and Coco perked up at this. "Oh? What's going on?" Coco asked.

"I've got a delivery to make..."

* * *

"Alright, Admiral, what's all this about? Why are there three Navy shuttles taking up space in my landing cavern, and most importantly, why are you with them?" Crimson Blossom was decidedly annoyed. Heron talking to Admiral Adel had been a risk, but it was better than him blundering around trying to find answers. If that had come around to bite them...

"Nothing sinister or untoward, Captain Blossom. The pirates of Night's Haven Anchorage have been a thorn in the Navy's side for a long time. Most of the fleet's either tangled with them personally or lost someone close to them to these pirates. Add Roman Torchwick's capture to that, and there's a lot of Navy personnel that wanted to express their gratitude. The shuttles are loaded with...expressions of that gratitude, gifts for the Corsairs that participated in the assault." Admiral Adel beamed at Blossom and the other assembled Corsair captains.

Blossom scowled at him under the full mask she wore, fighting to keep her tone calm and friendly. "I'll see that it's properly distributed."

"That's not all. When word got out that a Corsair had taken down Cinder Fall single-handed, some people wanted to express their gratitude directly to them. Now I've had my office respect that person's privacy and keep their identity a secret, but a couple of these crates are still for them specifically." Adel's face met Blossom's, trying to keep his face from flinching away from her mask. "I've had people I trust examine all the gifts, making sure none of it can be traced. I won't speak for all Navy personnel, but as for me, I value the Corsairs and the help they give. In fact, I have something I wanted to deliver personally." He hefted the case in his left hand to draw attention to it. "I'm given to understand that whoever took down Cinder Fall ruined their plasma pistols in the process; I took it upon myself to replace them. The commander of Tombaugh Anchorage was a personal friend."

Later, in Blossom's quarters on the anchorage, Heron regarded the case warily. "And he just handed it to you, right there in the middle of the landing cavern?"

"Yeah, like it was nothing." Blossom ran a finger across the top of the case. "You going to open it?"

"I suppose I should, he did take the time to deliver it personally." Heron took a deep breath and popped the latches on the case, exhaling as she lifted the lid. "Well, I don't know what I expected to see, but this isn't it." She spun the case around to show Blossom the pair very nice plasma pistols nestled inside. "Exactly what he said it was."

Blossom hefted one of the pistols, checking the balance and weight. "Very, very nice. Compact, too. What is it?" she asked, noting the puzzled expression on Heron's face.

Heron spun the case back around. "Something... there!" Barely visible poking out of the foam was a datachip. "Now what's on this I wonder? Something so sensitive the admiral didn't trust anyone but himself to be the courier, I'd bet. Let's find out."

The chip contained copies of flight logs for _Atlas Ascendant_ , plus a note from the Admiral" _I don't know where it went, yet, but there are discrepancies in_ Atlas Ascendant _'s flight logs going back decades. Of particular note are two undocumented trips when a certain person of interest began and ended their period of seclusion, plus more between._

Blossom hissed. "Maybe we can find that monastery and burn it to the ground."

"No," Heron shook her head. "None of them wanted to do that to me, none of them wanted me there. They're innocent in this."

"But-"

"No, we leave them alone. Or I'll go back to sleeping in my rack in pilot country. Alone."

"Fiiine..."

Heron giggled slightly. No matter howmuch Blossom changed, there was still the same old Ruby underneath.

* * *

"Any idea what this is about?" Dragon glanced at Heron as her, Dragon, and Blake stood outside the hatch.

"None. Your sister's barely spoken to me in a week. I know _Crescent Rose_ is finishing up its refit; shouldn't she have more free time now?"

Dragon nodded, puzzled. _Crescent Rose's_ damage from the battle for the anchorage had been worse than she'd initially let on to Admiral Barut; the ship's armor had been in tatters for starters. So Blossom had taken the opportunity to spend some of her portion of their earnings for a significant refit as well, extending the total time _Crescent Rose_ spent in yard hands to almost two months.

One significant upgrade had been the installation of several holographic environment chambers or HECs. The relatively new technology used a combination of force fields and holograms to simulate different environments. Blossom had been drooling at the idea of refitting _Crescent Rose_ to add them but hadn't been able to justify the expense before now. Dragon herself was looking forward to adding them to her marines' training regimen. "Probably, but a lot of new stuff got installed. Might be having some teething troubles integrating all the new stuff."

"No, this is working fine." Blossom bounced around the corner, a spring in her step. "Come on, let's get acquainted with our new toy." She tapped quickly on the controls, and the hatch slid open.

Standing before them was a desolate ruined cityscape, the sky above shot with black clouds, a red sun lending a harsh light to the scene. "Wow," Blake whistled. "I'm impressed. You'd almost think we were on a planet."

"Yeah. Best part is, we can use this for some serious combat training with less risk of damaging the ship," Blossom said with a grin, stepping inside and running her hand across a chunk of rubble. "You'd almost think it was real, wouldn't you?"

"What did you have in mind, sis?" Dragon was crouched down examining a bush. "Ow, dammit, this thing has thorns! And it hurt?"

"Well, something like _this._ " There was a _whirr-clank-clank-clang!_ as Blossom pulled something from the small of her back and it unfolded into a scythe even as she swung it at Heron.

Blake blinked, taking a step back. Heron hadn't even moved, except to draw her blade and bring it up to block Blossom's strike. Heron laughed. "What, did you think I wouldn't notice you carrying that overgrown gardening implement of yours? I wondered why you didn't anymore, but I was afraid to ask."

Blossom laughed herself as she set her weapon back on the holographic ground. "Dragon and I ended up leaving our weapons behind, back home. And I just... didn't feel like rebuilding Crescent Rose before now. But now it feels like it's time. I'll do Dragon's gauntlets next, probably build the right-hand one into her arm, and then something for Blake once we get her some basic training. Hell, start cycling the crew through here as we can. I intend the crew of the _Crescent Rose_ to be some of the most lethal Corsairs around."

"Wait, isn't the ship named _Crescent Rose?"_ Blake was confused.

"People who attend combat schools usually build their own weapons and name them. Mine was named Crescent Rose, so I named the ship the same thing."

Heron held out her blade, resting it on both of her hands. "I-I don't know what happened to Myrtenaster, it wasn't with me when I arrived at the monastery and didn't want to ask before leaving the palace. But now it seems fitting to pass its name on to my new sword." She swung the newly-reborn Myrtenaster around for a moment before returning it to her hip."

"Wait, I have to build something like that?" Blake paled, pointing at Crescent Rose. "No way, I'm not up for this."

"Don't worry, most weapons aren't that elaborate. And we'll help," Dragon grinned.


	15. Chapter 15

_Memento Mori_ was burning.

They had been on a routine patrol in the Dennier system, a sleepy little agrarian system whose economy was based largely on supplying nearby mining outposts with food. While Dennier itself was a low-priority target for pirate attacks, pirates had sometimes been known to set up bases in Dennier's outer system from which to attack more lucrative targets nearby. So the system government of Dennier had made arrangements with the Corsairs to patrol the Dennier system and its outer reaches. The Corsairs loved the deal since part of it was the establishment of a 'liberty port' on the planet of Dennier that was under Corsair control. There were few places within the Empire where _outcast_ and Corsairs could let their guard down; a whole _city_ was a blessing from the gods themselves.

So _Memento Mori_ had been on patrol in Dennier's Kuiper belt, checking out larger objects thought to be likely candidates for pirate bases. Standard Corsair (or Imperial Navy) procedure was to pay mapped objects above a certain size a visit, planting a passive sensor package that could lie dormant for decades, reporting only if called upon to do so or it noticed a passing ship within a given radius. It gave the Corsair crews patrolling Dennier something to do and the Dennier government was paying for the packages, after all.

 _Memento_ had emerged from hyperspace near an icy object so unremarkable it hadn't even been given a nickname when spotted, only a catalog number. Before there had been any clue what was going on, a whirlwind of missiles had descended on the Corsair vessel, probably launched from mines scattered in its orbit. Caught by surprise, the Corsair vessel had been shattered, its hull broken and bleeding far from any hope of aid.

Now Captain Lisa Lavender was pinned under debris in her quarters, coughing and choking from the smoke, and seriously questioning some of her life choices. She'd been born and raised on a hardscrabble colony in the fringes of the Empire, not anywhere special, just a bunch of folks looking for somewhere to call their own. When raiders descended upon them, taking everything that wasn't nailed down including the colonists, Lisa had been one of the ones to take up arms against them. And when the Corsairs had swooped in to rescue them, she had fought alongside their marines without a second thought. Or even a first, really; defending the colony from the raiders had been a matter of reflex, helping the Corsairs had been part of that same reflex.

Then when the Corsairs left that hardscrabble little colony, Lisa Lavender had left with them. And somewhere along the way Lisa Lavender had become _Captain_ Lavender, commander of the Corsair light cruiser _Memento Mori._ Not the biggest or the newest in the Corsair fleet, but more than enough firepower to make most pirates think twice about engaging her.

Lavender tried again to lift the debris pinning her to the deck. It shifted, but not enough for her to work herself free, and when she relaxed her arms, it settled right back into place. "Dammit. This is not how I wanted to go, you know? I wanted to die of old age, surrounded by my descendants, with my scandalously young fourth or fifth husband weeping piteously by my side," she said aloud, laughing at how ridiculous it all sounded.

"Might still get that, Captain." The sound of shrieking metal came from the hatch to her quarters, and Lavender could have wept for joy as her first officer shoved the twisted hatch out of his way. "I mean, I'm game if you are. Though I'm angling to be the first husband, or possibly the second. Polyamorous marriage, maybe?"

"Tukson you are ridiculous, you know that? You're already married and your wife despises me. Now help me you buffoon."

"No, she doesn't hate you, she just thinks I'm going to leave her for you. I keep telling her that if anything, you'd be an add-on, not a replacement. Help me with this." Two of the marines tagging along with Tukson helped him lift the debris pinning the captain to the deck, while two more slid her out and onto a stretcher. Lavender started to protest, only to be pressed back down to the stretcher by Tukson. "No, Captain, you're too badly injured. Let's get you to a lifepod; we're almost the last ones aboard. If you hadn't been talking to yourself, we would have missed you."

"The crew..."

"... have abandoned ship by now if they're able to, and those left, well, it's getting to the point of minimal return. We have to go."

* * *

" _Memento Mori_ makes six ships in the last month, sir."

Barut scowled. "And all of them to ambushes of various sorts. Hell, we lost _Requiem for Dawn_ to a booby-trapped lifepod!"

Prescient Opal nodded grimly. The pirates that had taken _Requiem_ down had been a bit more clever than most. They'd attacked and destroyed a freighter, sending its crew to the lifepods. Then they'd attached an antimatter demolition charge with a proximity detonator to one of the pods and sat back to wait, active sensors off and on minimum power at the edge of passive sensor range. They might have gotten away clean if _Requiem for Dawn_ had been operating alone that day; instead _Ossuary'_ s newly-minted captain had earned his first kill in ship-to-ship combat. "Unfortunately, the capture of Night's Harbor Anchorage and the capture of Roman Torchwick has left a power vacuum among the pirate clans. The White Fang is making a strong case to become the dominant clan, and this Sienna Khan is of a very different breed."

"Indeed." After the capture of Night's Harbor Anchorage, there had been a power struggle among the White Fang. Faced with a large number of pirate ships cut loose by Roman Torchwick's fall from power, Sienna Khan had seized control by declaring that the White Fang would accept humans as equals among its numbers, provided they followed orders. Personally, Barut figured those human-crewed ships and their captains would be used as little more than cannon fodder by the White Fang, given assignments that were undesirable or just plain suicidal.

"So what are we going to do, sir?"

"The Captain's Council will have to decide that, but I intend to propose that we stop patrolling solo for now. This will mean splitting bounties and such, of course, but hopefully, it will only be temporary, and half a bounty is better than losing a ship. Now I have an appointment with my tailor; there's a wedding to prepare for, after all."

[break]

It was not Corsair custom to mourn the dead. Instead, they celebrated a person's life and accomplishments. Even the rawest recruit that died in their first battle was given a proper sendoff; hadn't they taken up the path of the Corsair, after all?

Weddings were likewise a great cause for celebration. Once they had been rare among the Corsairs, but as time went on and the Corsairs grew in numbers, they had become more common, especially in the last half-century. They were seen as a declaration of unwillingness to quietly fade away, a way to scream at the universe, _Here I am, this is mine, try to take it from me at your peril._

Dragon and Blake's wedding had proven more... complicated than the happy couple had intended originally. At first, they'd hoped to keep the ceremony small and private, inviting some of _Crescent Rose_ 's crew and select other friends. But then other Corsairs had expressed an interest in attending, including the captains of every ship Blossom, Dragon, and Blake had served on, plus other prominent Corsairs such as most of the Captain's Council. Finally, Fleet Admiral Barut himself dropped by Dragon and Blake's quarters to congratulate them. Dragon had gotten the hint and stammered out an invitation for him.

All of these extra and high-powered guests had called for a lot of changes to their original wedding plans. Their original venue they'd chosen had been one of the smaller chapels on Valiant Anchorage; the new venue was on a resort world that owed Blossom a favor and was willing to lock down one of their smaller resorts for a few days.

They had chosen a fairly standard setup for the wedding. The guests would stand in concentric circles around the center, where the Witness would wait for them. There had been more than a few volunteers to be Dragon and Blake's Witness, including Blossom, Heron, and yes, Fleet Admiral Barut, but in the end, they'd chosen Valiant Ironwood. Carpeted paths led from opposite sides of the center to outside where the guests sat; Blake and Dragon would make their separate entrances from there.

The innermost circle of guests was reserved for _family._ Crimson Blossom, White Heron, Ghira and Kali Belladonna, a stand holding a portrait of Taiyang Xiao Long, Sage Hawk (first officer of the first Corsair ship Blossom and Dragon served on), and for reasons that weren't quite clear to Heron, Velvet Scarlatina, _Crescent Rose_ 's helmsman, stood there. A bit of wrangling about relative position had gone on from there, which Dragon and Blake had gladly passed off to an oddly eager Prescient Opal.

Finally the day came. The morning was clear and bright, with just a hint of clouds overhead. Heron tried to wait patiently but found herself glancing at Blossom standing next to her. She'd practically had to beat her own lady love with a crowbar to make her buy a new dress for the wedding, and the results were worth every Lien. The result was a shimmering cascade of crimson silk that covered everything but Blossom's head and hands, yet followed her every curve down to a flowing skirt that stopped just above her ankles, barely showing the ornate boots she'd chosen for the occasion. Blossom caught Heron eyeing her and whispered, "Are you thinking something inappropriate?" smiling at the white-haired woman.

"No."

"Pity."

"I'm already _planning_ it."

Blossom flushed for a moment, and Heron fought to keep a satisfied grin down. Today wasn't about her and Blossom, it was about Dragon and Blake.

Valiant Ironwood stood just to one side of the center, standing so still he might as well have been carved from stone. Finally, he glanced to his left and right, satisfying himself that everyone was in position. "All present, pay heed and stand ready to bear witness. Who comes here to be married today?"

"I do." Dragon spoke firmly as she strode to the edge of the circle, and Heron raised an eyebrow. Corsair tradition said it was the participants' choice as to whether or not an _outcast_ should wear their mask, and Yang had decided not to. She wore a golden dress that Heron wouldn't have found out of place at a ball at the Imperial palace, and she made a mental note to get the name of Yang's dressmaker.

Ironwood nodded gravely. "And who comes here to be joined to you in marriage?"

"I do." Blake stepped forth, and Heron blinked. Blake's dress was a stylized version of the Corsair dress uniform in black and purple, with the normal trousers or knee-length skirt replaced with a longer skirt that just barely brushed the carpet where she stood.

"Come forth and name yourselves then, so that those present may bear true witness to what happens here today."

"Yang Xiao Long."

"Blake Belladonna."

"Yang Xiao Long, what do you bring to this union?

"I bring my honor as a Corsair, my love for Blake Belladonna, and the blade I will carry in defense of both."

"Blake Belladonna, what do you bring to this union?"

"I bring my heart, which already belongs to Yang, my duty as a Corsair, and today and all my tomorrows, which I pledge to spend with Yang."

"Yang Xiao Long, are you satisfied with the gifts Blake Belladonna brings to this union?"

"Absolutely."

"Blake Belladonna, are you satisfied with the gifts Yang Xiao Long brings to this union?"

"I am."

"Does anyone present take any issue with this union? Does anyone doubt that they enter into this union of their own free will and that they do so without any false pretenses?" Silence spread across the beach as Ironwood waited out the traditional response time. "Very well, then. Let all present bear witness that these two have entered into this marriage of their own free will, without any false pretenses, and that they and only they can render it asunder." Ironwood smiled. "Congratulations."

The crowd started cheering, supplemented by catcalls as Blake catapulted herself into Yang's arms, knocking the blonde woman to the ground and kissing her deeply.

Heron couldn't help herself; she was laughing and making a few lewd suggestions of her own. Blossom chuckled and looped her arm through Heron's. "Come on, let's go congratulate them."

Blossom looked down at where Blake had finally away back from Yang, the two of them gasping for air. "Save it for the honeymoon, you two. We've still got a reception to go, you know."

"Yeah, pity the honeymoon's only a week," Yang sighed as she and Blake helped each other to their feet."

"Actually, I got you a month at the resort. Enjoy yourselves; we can do without you."

"But the ship's marines-"

"-will be fine under the command of Sun Wukong. Your sister already talked to him. Congratulations," Heron said, giving Blake a peck on the cheek.

"Hey now, hands off, you missed your chance," Yang mock-growled, her hands on her hips.

Heron laughed. "Considering we're both spoken for, and my girlfriend's right here, I think you're safe."

"Yeah." Yang frowned as Barut made his way over, his face grim. "Looks like the party's over. Back to work, eh?"

Barut shook his head. "No need to cancel your honeymoon. I'm here to speak to your sister. We have a priority mission, a special request from the Imperial Navy. It seems a VIP transport has gone missing in the area, and I want _Crescent Rose_ involved. Right now as far as the navy's concerned, you can do no wrong, Captain Blossom, and having you involved in this mission will strengthen our relationship with them."

"Right." The price of fame, she supposed. "Info on the ship, a passenger manifest?"

"Waiting in your mailbox aboard. No passenger manifest, it's 'classified.'" Barut snorted. 'Classified' in cases like this usually meant 'likely to embarrass someone.'

"Aye, sir, we'll make ready for space immediately."

The admiral laughed. "I think we can wait until after the reception."


	16. Chapter 16

"There she is," Sun Wukong whispered as he leaned over Heron's shoulder, the missing Navy transport coming closer into view. "Guess your hunch panned out."

Heron snorted. _Hunch, was it?_ "I'm just glad I stayed awake in astrophysics class." Her clue had been the comm relay the hijackers had sent their messages from. The hypercom normally built into a starship's hyperdrive wasn't powerful enough to transmit across interstellar distances, so almost all mapped systems had a hypercom relay in close orbit of the star. Maintaining them was a not inconsiderable line item in the Navy budget, but was justified as being both a) something for Navy ships to do when not performing more critical tasks, like say, chasing pirates, and b) humanitarian, because it made it easier for distressed ships to call for help.

As an added bonus, any message sent carried with it a header that showed all the relays the message had passed through. While the Navy hadn't been willing to pass on the messages it had exchanged with the hijackers, it had been willing to pass on the _headers_ for those messages. And every one had come from this same star system. An insignificant star system with no real natural resources and no name, just a catalog number, it had been surveyed, mapped, logged, and forgotten about centuries ago.

Naturally the Navy had made a thorough search of the system and found nothing. The hijackers had even called the Navy while their ships were searching the system, taunting them. And still the message carried the same origin header.

So the hijackers had to be in the system, but _where?_ At first, Blossom and Heron had scoured the survey records alone, looking for somewhere the hijackers could hide the missing transport. Then copies of the survey record had 'mysteriously' started to circulate among _Crescent Rose_ 's crew, and everyone had taken to idly trying to puzzle out where the hijackers were hidden.

Finally something had clicked in Heron's mind. One of the gas giants had particularly strong magnetic field, and the interaction between it and its largest moon _might_ create a sensor dead zone. Not very big, but if the hijackers kept the engine use to a minimum and only used passive sensors, it might be enough to hide the the transport. Maybe.

Heron had taken this to Blossom and Sun. Sun laughed it off, saying Heron was a princess, not an astrophysicist. _That_ particular poor choice of words had won him an hour-long session in the ship's HEC with Heron _and_ Blossom both using him for target practice. Afterward, Heron had bet Sun half a month's pay the transport was where she said it was, and it was officially on. One slow-as-hell assault shuttle ride across the system later and here they were, watching breathlessly as the Navy's lost transport filled their shuttle's canopy, "Now what?" Sun whispered.

"One, why are you whispering, they can't hear you, and two," Heron held her hand out to Sun, expectantly.

"Uh," Sun had the decency to look embarrassed. "I don't actually have the money with me." At Heron's frown, he shrugged. "I figured it wouldn't be here, and I'd just let you out of the bet, no harm, no foul."

"Neptune, do you hear that? Your boyfriend is trying not to honor a bet," Heron called back toward the shuttle's hold.

"Do whatever you want, man. But I will point out that cheating the captain's girlfriend is likely may result in you cleaning the hull. With your toothbrush," the blue-haired man yelled back, busily checking his gear.

"Uhh..." Sun quickly wilted under Heron's glare. Dammit, he'd been working around _outcast_ for years, what was it about Heron's glare that made it so much more intimidating? "Tell you what, I'll give you half of whatever reward we get for finding this. It's gotta be more than the pay I owe you, right?"

"Fine." Heron turned her attention back to their approach to the hijacked transport. "Well, this is an interesting wrinkle," she murmured. "Mass readings are off; too big to be just the transport. Must be something else next to it, maybe docked with it."

The 'something else' turned out to be a frigate, docked to the transport and hiding in its shadow. Neptune shook his head as he peered out the viewport. "Did the pirates get a bulk discount on frigates or something? And how in the hell did a frigate take a VIP transport in the first place?"

Sun shrugged. "Not a lot of room for weapons on a ship that size. And if it's a VIP transport, it's gotta have creature comforts, so even less room for weapons. I betcha it's gotta a killer ECM suite though." Sun scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Okay, here's the plan. A frigate's got a crew of maybe forty or fifty, max. We board quietly, grab the VIP and anything else important that's not too much of a hassle. Then we sneak away, call the ship, and hope the Captain finds us first." He leaned close to Heron, keeping his voice low; Sun normally wouldn't ask what he was about to, but it was kinda important now. "You got any, uh, prior experience with ships of this type? Enough to give us a rough idea of the layout? Maybe the closest docking port to the VIP quarters?"

Heron snorted and brought up an image of the transport onscreen. "Amidships, right behind those great big windows. VIPs like to stargaze." _And to try and impress women with the view,_ she thought, but kept that to herself.

Their shuttle ghosted near the docking port, and one of the marines drifted across in an EVA suit to crack the lock before they docked with it. "All clear," he sent with an annoyed sigh that was audible over his suit's comm. "This thing had pretty good security, but the pirates broke it and left it broken. They even slaved the transport's computer to their ship's, so I now own both systems."

"Got it. Okay, Thorn, you're first through the hatch. Remember, weapons on 'stun' and watch your targets. We've got the VIPs and possible crew survivors in here."

Inside, the transport's interior was _very_ nicely decorated, with soft lighting, wood paneling, and wallscreens showing a variety of art. Scratch that, _actual_ art, in display cases. "Very niice," Neptune whistled. "Wonder if whoever's ship this is needs a boytoy. I could, you know, hang around being decorative."

"Or two," Sun agreed, waving marines forward to the corners.

"Gilded cage, guys, gilded cage. There's a reason I live the carefree life of a Corsair instead. Exotic ports of call, indigestible food, and all the incoming fire you can stand," Heron laughed, shaking her head.

"Hey, I'm a great chef!" Neptune objected.

"Great at making spare reactor shielding you mean," Sun teased.

Thorn cleared his throat, peering around the corner with a flexicam. "There's a guard on the VIP quarters," he muttered softly. "Looks like we have a winner."

It was like flicking a switch; all amusement or joviality vanished from Sun's face. "Okay guys, two and two. Heron, you're with me and Neptune."

Two marines spun around the corner, one shooting high, the other low; their fire dropped the pirate guard before he'd managed to do more than turn his head in their direction. Two other marines took up position behind the group, watching their backs. Quickly and quietly, a squad of marines hustled down the corridor in each direction, taking up tactical positions while one marine checked the hatch. "Not locked," she whispered, and Sun gestured two other marines forward.

Sun facepalmed when he saw the mess inside the VIP quarters. No sign of the hostage, but by the look of things, the pirates had been using it for a party room. Half-eaten food and bottles were strewn everywhere. Two pirates had even been making use of the opulent bed when the marines came in; the one on the bottom had done slightly better, managing to make it halfway to his weapon before taking a second stun shot. He sighed. "Nothing's ever easy, is it? Okay, sleepy-shots and snap-cuffs for everyone here. Then we sweep the ship compartment by compartment. Quickly and quietly."

"The other VIP quarters are on the opposite side of this deck," Heron said as the marines put the unconscious hijackers in restraints. "This section is usually one big suite instead of being several smaller ones, so I figured this was our better bet."

"Right about where the frigate is docked?" Neptune asked. Heron nodded, and the blue-haired man shrugged. "Prize money's not bad on a frigate."

"And I get half of Sun's share."

"Hey!"

* * *

"Okay, revised plan. Crane, set up a screamer. Sooner or later, they're going to figure we're here. When they do, I want their comms jammed and every alarm on both ships going off. Reactor breach, fire, decompression, abandon ship, pizza delivery, you name it. Grab the emergency suits out of that locker; once we have the VIP, we'll stuff them in a suit and dump the air on both ships if we have to."

Quickly and quietly, the two squads of marines made their way aft to a corridor that lead to the other side of the ship. Low voices came from around the corner. "Now come on, little boy, open up the vault, and you and your friends will be free to go on your way," a woman's voice purred, and it was all Heron could do to avoid gagging. Did the woman have no subtlety?

A raspy, weak voice came in reply. "Oh, but I'm having, having so much fun. Why would I want to leave? The company's so divine, and the food is to die for." A slap rang out in reply.

Sun jerked his head toward the corner, and the marine in front slid his flexicam around to see what was going on. "Two pirates, one hostage. Hostage is tied to a chair in front of a big armored hatch, looks pretty roughed up. Hijacker sitting on his lap with her shirt off. Nice bra. She's got a gun on him."

A wicked grin slid across Heron's face as an idea formed in her mind. "Let me go around the corner first. I think I might be able to get us out of this without a shot fired."

Heron stepped slowly around the corner, left hand on the new Myrtenaster's hilt, the long hair she normally kept bound up on duty swinging freely behind her. She wished she'd worn a full mask today; that would add to the intimidation factor. A half-mask would have to do; most people found an _outcast_ 's mask unnerving in the first place, the more stylized mask worn by a Corsair _outcast_ was even more unsettling.

Immediately the pirate not sitting on the hostage's lap snapped his weapon to her. "Put that away before something unpleasant happens to you," Heron said, her voice low and full of menace.

The topless pirate laughed. "I think it's you that something nasty's about to happen to. Drop your weapons and surrender, or he gets it. And trust me, if the prince gets killed because a Corsair screwed up, not gonna be pretty for all of you."

Prince-? Heron's head didn't move, but her eyes flicked to the hostage's face for a moment. It was hard to tell, between the blood and bruises, but it _could_ be Prince Whitley. "If that is the prince, then he should know how Corsairs behave in a hostage situation. Why don't you enlighten this poor misguided soul, Your Highness?"

"As far as she's concerned, I'm already dead," Whitley rasped. "Corsairs don't negotiate, they come in shooting, and you get just one reminder of that fact. Which I'm assuming has just been delivered. But to be fair, there are far worse ways to go."

"You're correct in that the warning's been given, Your Highness, but I'm not quite finished. Behind me is a squad of Corsair marines. Another squad is busily taking control of this vessel and your frigate. And, just so you know who you're facing, my _name_ is White Heron." She stressed her name just a little as her grip tightened on Myrtenaster, hoping Whitley would pick up on it. "I'm the one who killed Cinder Fall."

"Heard she was dead, but you're the one that killed her? Yeah, right. And as for your marines taking control of this ship and mine, that's bullshit." The pirate laughed. "No way you could do that without raising the alarm."

Heron raised her right hand, snapping her fingers, and alarms began to sound. "You mean these alarms? And as far as Cinder goes, yes, I did kill her. I went one-on-one with her, in single combat, fired my plasma pistols into her until they burned out, then shoved my sword through her chest and pinned her to the floor. It was _glorious._ But there's one more thing. See, all these marines, all they can do is shoot you. I can do far, far worse."

"Worse how?" Heron could tell the pirate's nerves were shaking now, as her head jerked back and forth between Whitley, Heron, and the corridor behind Heron; one more gentle push and she'd break.

Heron smiled a smile colder than the depths of interstellar space as the blue-and white Beowolf she'd slowly and quietly called up behind the pirates gently laid a forepaw on the pirate woman's shoulder, its wintry breath blowing in her ear. "Oh, feed you to him, I suppose. So, shot or eaten alive, which is it going to be?" Inwardly, she was sweating. Using her glyphs to call up a pseudo-Grimm and turn it loose was one thing; keeping it under tight control like this was quite another. If her control slipped, there was decent chance her brother would get hurt before she could dismiss it.

There was a clatter as the woman's pistol hit the deck, the other pirate's right behind hers. "Please don't let it eat me," the woman whimpered. Heron snapped her fingers again, pointing to the bulkhead opposite where Whitley was tied up. The pair couldn't scramble out of the way fast enough and marines poured around the corner, slapping the captives in restraints while Sun untied the prince.

"Thank you," Whitley said as he tried to stand, rubbing his wrists, before half-falling back into the chair. "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy. You have the gratitude of the Empire for this."

Sun shrugged. "No worries, you've had a crap few days. I'll have our medic look you over. And 'the gratitude of the Empire' is best expressed in significant quantities of cash."

"That should not be a concern." Whitley turned his head to where Heron was standing, trying to keep her distance from Whitley. "Did you say your name was White Heron? Then are you all from the _Crescent Rose,_ commanded by Captain Crimson Blossom?"

"That's right," Neptune answered with a grin. "She might be new to being a captain, but she's pretty good at her job. Lots of danger, but high risk means high reward, right?"

"Indeed. I suppose there's something to be said for a life of anger and excitement, but unfortunately, my life is filled with duties to the Empire." Whitley tried to stand again, this time steadied by the marine medic. He straightened himself as best he could before striding decisively over to Heron. "And I especially want to extend my thanks to you, W-" Whitley's voice faltered as recognition dawned.

It was a moment frozen in time as everyone waited for Whitley's reaction. Heron was as still as a pond, her hands most definitely _not_ sliding toward her weapons. Inwardly, Sun cursed himself. Dammit, he'd almost forgotten that under her _outcast_ 's mask, White Heron was Princess Weiss Schnee, runaway heir secundus to the Imperial throne.

To Whitley's credit, it didn't take more than half a second to recover his composure. "I'm sorry, for a moment there I thought we'd met before, but I don't believe we have. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, White Heron." He bowed. "And in addition to the thanks of the Empire, let me extend my own personal thanks to you and all the men under your command."

Sun coughed gently. "Actually, I'm in command here. Heron's our shuttle pilot today."

"My apologies, I meant no offense. And now, let me show you my gratitude." Whitley walked over to the armored hatch, laying his hand on the lock plate. With a _clunk-clunk-clunk_ and a hiss, the hatch slid open. "I was traveling in secret to Valiant Anchorage in order to speak with your captain. The contents of this vault were intended as a gift to secure that meeting, but now I think it would be proper to simply give them to her as part of my thanks." Inside armored containers were arrayed in neat rows, and Sun whistled. Every one bore the mark of the Imperial family, signifying both their origin and their ownership. "In here are all the components to upgrade _Crescent Rose_ 's hyperdrive to Class V. Plus all the permits and a hefty store of replacement parts, of course."

Even Heron's jaw dropped at this. The differences between the different speeds of hyperdrive mostly came down to relatively small components in the end, with the higher grades of hyperdrive rising in cost dramatically both for the components and the permits. Class V hyperdrives were fantastically expensive, and the only way to get a permit for one was by Imperial writ.

Whitley turned to face Sun, his expression neutral. "Would you be so kind as to contact your captain and ask her to meet with me?"

* * *

Crimson Blossom could have been cast in iron as she stepped through the hatch into the compartment where Whitley was waiting. At least Heron's brother hadn't made any fuss since coming aboard; he'd gone where he was told and done what he was told. The only request he'd made was to send a message to the Palace telling them he was safe and sound, but Blossom had declined that request, citing a need for operational security. A blatant lie, of course, but it served for the time being.

Whitley stood, looking out the viewport at the gas giant that had served to conceal his transport. He turned at Blossom's approach, bowing slightly. "It's good to meet you, Captain Blossom. You have a brave crew and a fine ship, soon to likely be the fastest in the Corsair fleet."

"Perhaps." Blossom came to parade rest, staring Whitley in the face. "I am still considering whether to accept your gift, after all."

"I see." Whitley met Blossom's stare with one of his own. Unlike his father, Whitley had visited Weiss as often as he could manage while she was attending Beacon Academy, and he easily recognized the woman in front of him. Time for a bold move, he decided. "Captain, I'm going to set aside propriety and custom for a moment. I know White Heron is my sister Weiss, and I know that you're Ruby Rose and exactly what the two of you meant to each other while you were at Beacon. That said, you have my word that I will keep that knowledge to myself, and I won't seek out either you or White Heron while aboard your vessel. I'll just sit quietly in my cabin until you return me home."

"Then why did you still ask to meet with me?"

"Because I want to look you in the face and ask you if my sister is being held here against her will, if she became an _outcast_ and took up the path of the Corsair under any form of duress." Whitley's voice was calm as he did his best to meet Blossom's eyes under her mask, and she began to wonder if there might be some of the old Schnee steel in him after all.

Ruby reached up and pulled off her mask, silver orbs meeting pale blue. "Be glad you're asking me that, Whitley, and not another Corsair. Most of them would have shot you for the insult. We tend to be pretty particular about honor, you see. It's pretty much all we have left from our old lives, besides pain. I can't tell you her story, it isn't mine to give, but I can and will tell you that no Corsair has ever, _ever_ been forced to take up the Corsiar's path."

"Then that's all I need to know. But—" here Whitley hesitated, he'd already broken tradition very badly, how far did he dare go— "please tell White Heron that when she's ready to talk, I will be ready to listen. I'll visit Grandfather's cabin as often as I can."


	17. Chapter 17

"Well, Whitley, I hope you've learned something from your expensive little failure." The emperor snorted as he leaned back at his desk, looking over his folded hands at his son.

"I wouldn't call it a complete failure, Father. I did manage to salvage something out of it." Whitley sat gingerly in one of the visitor's chairs in front of his father's desk. His injuries might have healed, but he was still a little sore from the beatings the hijackers had given him, trying to convince him to open the transport's vault. "Luckily, the Corsairs that found me were from the _Crescent Rose_ , Captain Blossom's ship. I was able to play my 'gift' off as gratitude, instead of an outright bribe, which I think helped Captain Blossom see me in a better light. And I met and spoke not only with Blossom but several other highly-placed members of her crew. So not an overwhelming success, but I think I've managed to open a dialogue."

Jacques grunted, unconvinced. "From what you spent to open your 'dialogue,' this is going to be an expensive conversation."

"Not everything is about bribes and gifts, Father. That's why I asked Admiral Adel to join us."

The emperor scowled at Admiral Adel. "I'd planned on meeting with him in any case, to discuss the Navy's failure in allowing the hijacking to happen in the first place, plus their incompetence in not locating you before the Corsairs did."

Lyon started to speak, but Whitley raised a hand, shaking his head. "I don't blame the Navy for my kidnapping, Father. I was traveling in secret, without my usual security arrangements. They can hardly be held responsible for my own foolishness."

"They still should have found you first."

Admiral Adel nodded. "I agree with you, Your Majesty. The hijackers exploited an astrographic anomaly to conceal their position, something that Navy captains are taught to do themselves, and should have thought of when looking for the transport. It's something I'm already addressing with my senior staff. Among other things, we're going to add more focus on astrographic anomalies to the curriculum at command school. Other steps are being discussed."

"Let's hope it's not too little, too late, Admiral. Now," Jacques turned his gaze fully on Whitley, "since you've met Captain Blossom, what's your take on her? How can we get her to open up about what happened with Weiss? Who had her kidnapped, where she is now, that sort of thing."

"Like most Corsairs, she's very particular about her honor. To use her own words it's about all they have left from their old lives, besides pain. But I think she can be reasoned with. Getting her cooperation about Weiss's kidnapping is still going to take time." Whitley paused, considering. "I don't think showering her in particular with gifts or favors is the way to go. Before Admiral Adel became Fleet Admiral, things had been tense between the Navy and the Corsairs for decades. He's done a lot to repair their historically friendly relationship, but I think we can do more. I'm sure the Admiral has some ideas he hasn't moved forward with yet. Perhaps if we make it look like I'm the person behind some minor initiatives, it could improve relations with the Corsairs and Captain Blossom at the same time."

Jacques shook his head. "I don't like the idea. I don't approve of the Corsairs in the first place, and if I thought we could get away with it, I'd have them wiped out. But the people have this foolishly romantic ideal of them." He frowned in consideration. "Actually, we may be able to use this to solve another problem. Word of your abduction leaked to the press frustratingly quickly, and while we've announced your return, we've kept the details quiet. A public statement by you, stating that you were rescued by Corsairs, along with extending them some favors as a public show of gratitude, might be useful. Admiral, draw up a list of things we could give the Corsairs as a show of our thanks. Make sure to include items that will look good to the general public, but are really something of a mixed blessing for them."

Adel nodded thoughtfully. "Give me a few days; I've got some ideas, but I want to do a little research first. For example, we've often allowed the Corsairs, both as a group and as individuals, to purchase obsolete ships from the Fleet Reserve. They've been asking for us to loosen some of the restrictions on what ships they're allowed access to. Either that or allowing them official access to better weapons, that sort of thing. Not that the Corsairs don't sometimes manage to get their hands on things we'd prefer they didn't, but there's a difference between that and being able to purchase them openly."

* * *

"There's one thing I want to discuss with you before we go through the list of goodies we're looking to give the Corsairs, Admiral. I assume we are as secure as possible here?" Whitley pulled out his cigarettes, glancing at Lyon, who sighed and pulled out the ashtray he kept for Whitley's visits, tossing it on the desk.

"You know, you're the only person that I let smoke in here, and that's only because you ash on the carpet, otherwise."

Whitley shrugged. "I only did that once, and I was sixteen, I believe. Now, I believe that after Night's Harbor Anchorage arrived, Captain Blossom officially served as its military governor? And that you met with her several times? What was your assessment of her?"

The admiral nodded. "I did. She seems a solid enough officer, if a bit young. Give her, say, five years, and she will be fearsome to behold."

"And White Heron?"

Lyon blinked. "I'm sorry?" he asked, trying to cover his surprise that Whitley even knew Whtie Heron's name.

"I know you met with a Corsair named White Heron as well. You even gave her a gift, a personal gesture of thanks for her defeat of Cinder Fall." Whitley leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the admiral, and Lyon could feel Whitley's cold gaze stripping bare his soul. "I'd like to know what your assessment of White Heron was."

Lyon couldn't help but shake as he stood, eyes narrow, hands on the desk. "You've met White Heron as well."

Whitley nodded, meeting Lyon's gaze.

"Then you recognized her, just like I did. And we both know that neither one of us can admit to that fact. If her identity, the fact that she's run away to become an _outcast_ and a Corsair became public-"

'-It would set off a shitstorm the likes of which the Empire has never seen." Whitley tapped the ash off his cigarette. "Her immediate return would be demanded. The Corsairs would refuse to even consider the idea. And then you and the Navy would be ordered to take down the Corsairs." The prince took a deep drag off his cigarette, stubbing it out before lighting another. "So you and I are both going to pretend this conversation never happened. Right now, for my purposes, White Heron can remain exactly where she is. She's safe and surrounded by people who will react violently if anyone or anything tries to harm her. No, I'm not worried about her safety. I'm in this for the long game, Admiral."

"'The long game?' So you're planning for the day you become Emperor." Adel settled back in his seat, giving the crown prince a calculating look.

"I am. My father's ruled too long, using life-extension technologies that don't _quite_ void medical ethics. And that's just the ones I can prove. There are hints of still darker things that make my skin crawl." Whitley shrugged. "That's part of the reason I haven't let myself get serious with anyone yet. The day I marry, I become a greater threat to the throne. And I don't intend to provoke a confrontation with my father until I think I can win."

"That's why you're strengthening the Corsairs," Adel's voice was hoarse, his mind racing. "You want them there, owing you favors, in case you need a fleet of your own."

The prince nodded, sadly. "Civil wars are a dirty, ugly business, Admiral. But if one is unavoidable, it's best to be prepared, and the best place to hide a fleet is where everyone's expecting to see one anyway. I'd rather avoid the whole mess, but... I was undecided about how much I could trust you, but I think that if my sister left you breathing after you found out who she is, I may be able to trust you.

"So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to show you some, not all, but some, of the evidence of the unpleasant things my father has done in the name of keeping the throne. And then, Admiral, you have a choice to make. Two, actually, but we'll get to the other in a while."

* * *

"I think I'm going to be sick."

Yang had a disgusted look on her face as she pulled off her mask, rubbing her eyes. If the evidence Whitley had given Admiral Adel could be believed, imprisoning Weiss and destroying the house of Xiao Long was arguably among the _least_ corrupt things Jacques Schnee and his political allies had done.

Navy patrol patterns had been shifted to leave lucrative targets exposed to raiders. Other Navy ships had been sent into pre-arranged ambushes so that 'unreliable' captains would be killed or broken at court-martial. Colonies had been deliberately shorted supplies to ensure they failed, or worse, their locations outright sold to slavers so their people could be taken. Faunus nobles had been removed from the Assembly of Nobles, either with fabricated evidence or assassination. The list went on. All so that Jacques Schnee and his chosen few could get a little richer and keep those that weren't 'suitable' in line.

And that didn't even get into the things the Emperor had done to extend his life and his reign. Billions of Lien had very discretely been spent on experiments into full-body replacement via cloning, mind-to-machine transfer, bio-synthetic organs, advanced medical nanotech, anything and everything to extend a human's lifespan. If they could afford it, of course. And Jacques Schnee could definitely afford it.

"You want to be sick?" Heron shook her head. "I hate my father, but I've never been truly ashamed to be related to him before now. Can I have yours? The idea of force-growing a person to physical maturity, then replacing their brain with yours-" She shuddered; Whitley had been able to learn more about that project than some of the others, and it made for pretty gruesome reading.

Neo nodded, patting the hilt of the Corsair's blade she now wore. The woman with the bi-colored hair had grown up thinking herself lucky that at least her father had taken her in after her mother's passing. What she hadn't known was that one of the Emperor's cronies had arranged her mother's fatal illness as a 'favor' to her father.

The crown jewel of it all, at least as far as Heron was concerned, was the fate of her father's first family. Jacques Schnee's ascension to the throne had come in a troubled time, and his first marriage to Brunhilde Geist had been purely to secure an alliance to stabilize the Empire. The problem had come when Crown Princess Wynonna had turned out be vastly more popular than her father with just about everyone. She'd been the people's darling almost since the moment of her birth, and as she reached adulthood, some people started agitating for her father to abdicate in her favor. Wynonna wouldn't hear of it, of course, repeatedly stating that it was her father's decision and no-one else's. This did nothing to ease the Emperor's mind. Conspiracy theorists had been screaming that the 'terrorist attack' that took Wynonna and her mother's lives had been assassination; the part none of them had gotten right was who was responsible. At least he'd had the decency to wait for Brunhilde's much younger sister, Willow, to grow to adulthood before taking her as his second wife.

"So what are we going to do?" Blossom asked, pulling Heron close to her, seeking to ease the anguish she could hear in her lady love's voice.

"Which 'we' do you mean, Captain Blossom. 'We' as in Crimson Blossom and White Heron, 'we' as in the crew of the _Crescent Rose,_ or 'we' as in the Corsairs as a whole?" Once again, it had fallen to Ebon Toad to brief them on the information Whitley had passed on. Blossom was starting to wonder if he'd been permanently assigned to them, and if so, who he'd pissed off.

"Yes," Heron answered emphatically before Blossom could speak. "All three. There's no use pretending this doesn't have unpleasant implications for everyone."

Ebon Toad nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. There are always rumors of trouble within the Empire, of course, but the last few decades it's been more than rumors. I think you would have been about ten when the Kasra Conflict erupted. Nineteen billion dead, by the time it was over. Your father's not directly to blame for that one, but some of his black deals probably helped add fuel to that fire. And while that's the worst conflict of his reign, it's far from the only one. Nobles across the empire have been quietly building up fleets of their own for decades. Sooner or later one of them is going to use theirs.

"I won't speak for the Captain's Council, but my personal thinking is that they're going to take advantage of your brother's offer of ships and weapons to add to our firepower. It's not just looking after the Corsairs. Lots of people on the frontier depend on us for protection, and if the Empire erupts in a shooting war, it's going to get real ugly out here.

"Regarding the _Crescent Rose_ and her crew, I'm going to recommend you keep a low profile for a while. Nice quiet patrols, that kind of thing. You've had some rather spectacular successes of late, and that sort of attention is unwanted, given your situation." Toad's eyes very carefully did _not_ fix on Heron. "So I've got a nice quiet frontier patrol ready for you. Do try to stay out of trouble for a while, Captain Blossom."

* * *

"My father said you wanted to see me."

With a twinge of regret, Whitley turned from the spectacular mountain view he never tired of to regard his visitor. This cabin had belonged to his grandfather on his mother's side, and, as Whitley approached his teenage years, he'd asked his mother to give it to him as a bit of personal space, somewhere to escape the pressures of being crown prince. Now it served another purpose. There wasn't an unauthorized person within a hundred kilometers and damn few authorized ones. Whitley took his privacy seriously.

Now he examined his visitor critically. Coco Adel didn't have the assembly-line supermodel sex appeal that was in vogue these days, but she was far from unattractive and had other qualities that drew his eye. Even now, standing in the crown prince of the empire's private sanctum, she stood with her arms crossed, glaring at him over her ever-present sunglasses. It made his heart race a little bit, and he had to forcibly calm himself. The conversation they were about to have was going to be a tricky one, but it was necessary. Never again would he put another woman unknowing into the danger he was about to ask Coco Adel to put herself into.

"Yes, I do. Please, have a seat, and I'll get us some wine." The prince seated Coco at the table and chairs waiting on the cabin's deck, then scurried away, returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine, and Coco couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the label. You could buy a decent groundcar for what that bottle cost.

He poured two glasses, then sat, sniffing the wine before taking a sip. "Coco, one of the reasons you're here is that you're not a fool. Tell me, of the reasons in your mind for your being here, what's the top of the list?"

"Some sort of misguided romantic interest in me," Coco answered with a shrug. "I'll tell you now what I've told lots of other would-be suitors: Not Interested."

Whitley nodded. "Correct, as far as it goes. And yes, I know you're not interested in any romantic entanglements. After Vanessa, I've done my best to avoid them myself, but things are getting to the point where I... I need a partner of some sort. Which brings me to you."

Coco bit her lip. Vanessa Harcourt had been Whitley's fiancee at one point until she'd been killed in an aircar accident. "I'm flattered, Whitley, but like I said, I'm not interested."

"Then why are you here?" Whitley propped his chin on one hand as he took another sip of his wine. "I'm curious."

"Because... because," Coco sighed, taking a sip of her own wine. "Because at one point, you did me a kindness. I figured telling you 'no' to your face was the polite thing to do."

"Even though hordes of other women across the Empire would gladly commit murder to be on my arm for just one evening?"

"Yeah." Coco looked out at the pristine mountains, their snow-capped peaks reaching toward the heavens. "It's not you, it's me. Things are... complicated, Whitley."

"You have no idea exactly how complicated they really are, Coco." Whitley met her gaze as she turned to face him again. "And I'm the crown prince of the Empire. I thrive on 'complicated.'"


	18. Chapter 18

A cold, satisfied smile was on Lord Artis Tarvek's face as the destroyers of his flotilla exited hyperspace. Today there would be a reckoning between his house and House Lyshen. This system was rightfully his house's territory and nothing Lyshen could do was going to change that!

Tarvek scowled as he regarded the tactical plot. The 'renegade' colony on the gas giant's largest moon had 'spontaneously' requested Lyshen's protection when discovered by a routine patrol, and Lyshen was trying to use that to lay claim to the entire system. It was all absolute nonsense, of course; Lyshen had obviously planted the colony just to give them a claim to the system. The fact that the colonists had coincidentally managed to set up shop right on top of an iridium deposit literally worth trillions of Lien was proof of that!

It was all meaningless, of course. Today the ships his house had put so much effort into building in secret would earn their keep. They'd brush aside whatever Lyshen had left in orbit and wipe out the colony. House Lyshen would blame it on House Tarvek, of course, but if they didn't leave any survivors, there wouldn't be any proof, now would there?

"Sir, there are ships in orbit over the colony," the officer manning the sensors reported, and Artis turned toward him with a frown. "Whose ships are they, ah, Lieutenant?" Dammit, he never was any good with military things. He'd thought including the woman's rank would be appropriate, but he'd stumbled and it had come out awkward.

"One moment, sir." She worked her console for a moment, then frowned. "I'm not sure, sir. Their transponders _say_ they're freighters, but the ships' signatures look more like warships."

"Hmm." The mercenary Artis had hired to act as commodore for his little flotilla had a thoughtful look on his face as he studied the tactical plot. "No sign of weapons fire and they're just sitting there in orbit, so they're probably not raiders. And that's a suspicious amount of freighter traffic for a colony this small and this new. I think we're looking at our opposite number, sent by House Lyshen."

"Are there enough of them to stop us?" Artis asked, his frown deepening into a scowl. This was turning out to be more complicated than he'd expected.

"Stop us completely?" The commodore shrugged. "No, most likely not. We could still bombard the colony from, say, here, and destroy it. But I'm assuming that their ships were built 'off the books' like ours were, so there's no way to know what they're armed with. It could be an even fight, it could be a massacre either way."

"Sir, we're being hailed." The commodore made a gesture, and a man wearing a uniform Artis didn't recognize appeared on the screen at the commodore's station.

"Attention unidentified vessels, this colony is under the protection of House Lyshen. Cut your engines and identify yourselves. Failure to comply will be taken as evidence of hostile intent, and you will be fired upon."

The commodore smiled coldly. Exactly what he'd been expecting. "I don't know who sent you or why, but this system is the rightful territory of House Tarvek. Since the colonists refuse to leave peacefully, we're here to remove them by force. You are the ones who are trespassing here."

"Again, this colony is under the protection of House Lyshen. Any actions against the colony will be met with force. Shut down your systems and prepare to be boarded."

"Enough dancing about!" Artis hissed. "Just blow them out of space already! What am I paying you for?"

The commodore muted the channel, then turned to face his employer. "You're paying me for my expertise, my lord. And what my expertise is telling me is, that since they're here and obviously have reported our presence, we have to at least pretend to try diplomacy. It's going to come down to shooting in the end anyway, but this way, you're legally covered. We showed up to remove the colonists, Lyshen's fleet was here and refused to leave, so we had no choice but to destroy them. That's our best option now." He opened the channel again. "I'm giving _you_ five minutes to shut down _your_ systems and prepare to be boarded. Failure to comply on your part will be taken as hostile intent and will be acted on accordingly."

Another voice broke onto the channel. "Tarvek swine! Leave before we destroy you! These people asked for our protection from you, and now I see why! You didn't come here to remove them, you came to wipe them out!"

The Lyshen fleet commander visibly winced. "My lady, I asked you to stay off this channel. Let me handle this."

"Ha! You weren't getting anywhere! The only thing House Tarvek understands is force! Either destroy them or hand over command to someone who will!"

Artis leaned over his commodore's shoulder, shouting, "You can try, Lyshen thief! This system belongs to my house, and nothing you can say or do will change that!"

The Tarvek commodore forcibly kept himself from backhanding Lord Artis as his mind raced. This was getting out of hand. There'd been bad blood between Tarvek and Lyshen for decades, and this was only the latest confrontation. If he couldn't bring it under control, this was going to be a bloodbath. Then another new voice came over the channel.

" _Attention Tarvek and Lyshen fleets..."_

* * *

"This is Captain Crimson Blossom of the Corsair heavy cruiser _Crescent Rose._ By order of Imperial District Magistrate Zarten, both fleets are hereby ordered to stand down and prepare to be boarded. Any captain whose ship's computers and navigation logs are not found intact faces summary execution. You have ten minutes to comply and the clock is running." Blossom started the timer and leaned back in her chair.

Behind her, the aforementioned Imperial District Magistrate Zarten gave her a questioning look. "Summary execution, captain? Are you sure you want to go that far?"

Blossom shrugged. "I won't if I don't have to, but I'm hoping if I shoot one or two of them, the rest will get a lot more cooperative. Remember, those ships are in a gray area, legally speaking. The noble houses are permitted their own fleets, but I'm pretty sure neither House bothered to tell anyone about these particular ships. Having their computers intact will make proving everything in court that much easier for you later, which makes destroying the destruction of the computers destrution of evidence. And I'm pretty sure that what Tarvek was trying to do today could be construed as piracy, mass murder, something like that. Your wheelhouse, not mine. Shooting things is my job."

Zarten nodded thoughtfully. When Captain Blossom had shown up in his office a month ago and showed him evidence that House Tarvek was about to try enforcing their own solution to the matter currently before his court, he'd only been mildly surprised. The fact that a party that wished to remain anonymous was paying the Corsairs to intervene on the behalf of the _colonists_ was somewhat more interesting. The real surprise, however, had been Captain Blossom's proposed solution to the problem.

"Don't come down on them now," Blossom had suggested. "Let Tarvek come to the brink of murdering the colonists. Then step in and take them and their ships into custody. That way, we have an ironclad case against Tarvek." Lyshen deciding to show up with their own fleet was a complication, but not an unmanageable one.

"And so your mysterious employer decided to hire the Corsairs to intervene in this little territorial dispute out of the goodness of his heart, and of course you were glad to do the right thing," Zarten replied with a laugh.

"No, the Corsairs are here because we're getting paid. And I don't wish to speculate on my employer's motivations at this time. It's not a sealed contract, but we are being paid for our discretion." Blossom gestured at the communications officer. "Let me know if they say anything besides blustering and threats, or anything particularly juicy. Other than that, I really don't want to listen to them whine."

As the timer counted down to the five-minute mark, Blossom sighed and opened the channel. "Five minutes gone, gentlemen, and neither one of you has yet to see reason. Let me provide some additional incentive."

The Tarvek commodore's face went pale as targeting sensors went live throughout the gas giant's ring system. "We're all dead," he whispered. "They've murdered us all."

"What does that mean?" Artis asked, gesturing at the still appearing threat icons. "I don't understand what that is, that's what I pay you for."

"Mines," the commodore answered, his face growing grim as the shock faded. "They've liberally seeded the ring with mines. And if they're targeting the Lyshen ships as well, that means the Corsairs have been here longer than the Lyshen ships. Which means the Corsairs are in league with the _colonists_ since as far as I know, no-one reported the Corsairs' presence."

"Fine. If we're all going to hell, we're taking some of those Lyshen ships with us." Lord Artis reached forward and opened a channel. "All ships, this is Lord Artis Tarvek. Attack the Lyshen ships."

Fortunately, only half the Tarvek ships decided to attack. The others decided that it was better to be a live prisoner than a corpse. Also fortunate for them was the fact that only a tenth of the 'mines' were genuine; the rest were elaborate decoys, intended to intimidate them into surrendering. The attacking ships staggered under the assault of the real mines but pressed one. Blood had been spilled now, and they would have their revenge.

In response, the Lyshen flotilla surged toward the Tarvek squadron, only to be savaged even more brutally by the mines than the Tarvek ships, since the real mines had been placed more densely near the colony.

Blossom shook her head at the senseless destruction. "All Corsair ships, launch fighters and move to engage both sides. Let's clean up the mess."

* * *

Crimson Blossom stood behind Magistrate Zarten as Lord Tarvek and Lord Hsier Lyshen were brought in. "So nice of you gentlemen to join us," the magistrate purred.

"Thank you for rescuing me, magistrate, and thank you, Captain, for stopping these murderous Tarvek bastards," Hsier said with a bow.

"Murderous!" Artis snapped, jerking toward Hsier, only to be yanked back by Golden Dragon. "You're the one that put an illegal colony here, you-"

"If you hadn't stepped in," Lord Lyshen continued, ignoring Tarvek's words, "I can only imagine the devastation they would have unleashed upon the defenseless colony below. Speaking of the colony, captain, would it be possible for me to borrow a shuttle down to the surface? I need make arrangements for both the survivors and the wounded and dead from my ships."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Lord Lyshen," the magistrate said in a flat tone that held more menace than Hsier would have thought possible. "You're under arrest. In the course of my investigation, evidence has come to light that you deliberately maneuvered to place the 'wildcat' mining colony here, and arranged for them to request protection from House Lyshen. The colonists themselves are, for the most part, innocent, although your agents among them are being arrested as we speak. By the way, Corsair marines make wonderful detainment teams, Captain. I may recommend that the Imperial Marshals study your methods."

Blossom nodded. "I will pass along the compliment, magistrate. Our methods began as standard Imperial Marine tactics, with a few tricks of our own that the Corsairs have picked up over the years."

"I knew it!" Lord Tarvek laughed. "The system is mine by right! Now if you'll just give me a ride to my ship that survived the battle-"

"I'm afraid you're under arrest as well, Lord Tarvek. Regardless of whether the colony was illegal or not, it's still a crime to murder thousands of innocent people. Plus there's the question of exactly where all those ships of yours came from. Captain, if your marines will escort them to my shuttle, my marshalls will take them into custody."

After Tarvek and Lyshen had been taken away, the magistrate walked over to the window, looking out at the colony below. "Amazing, isn't it? A hardscrabble little world whose only redeeming feature is a mineral deposit that will be mined out in a century. But those colonists are determined to make it a paradise."

"What will happen to them, sir?" Dragon asked, looking out the window next to him.

"I'll recommend they be recognized as an independent colony, for the time being. The iridium deposit won't last forever, but with some careful planning, it will bring enough money to give them a good solid start." He turned to face Blossom. "Still not willing to tell me who hired you, Captain? I believe I can offer a substantial bribe to do so."

Blossom shook her head. "The demands of honor, sir."

* * *

"Your brother may be a louse, but he pays on time." Ruby grinned widely as she checked the ship's banking records. Whitley had indeed paid promptly for the escapade at the contested colony, with a hefty bonus for managing to capture both Lord Tarvek and Lord Lyshen alive.

"Mm. I still don't trust him," Weiss murmured as she bent to kiss Ruby softly on the cheek. "Come to bed now. I thought you were going to get yourself a clerk so you didn't have to work so much."

"I did, and I don't anymore. But there are still things that require the captain's attention." Ruby turned in her chair, sliding her arms around Weiss's waist and pulling her down for a kiss.

The door chime rang, and Ruby let go of Weiss with a sigh. A captain's work was never done and all that. "Come," she snapped, putting on the half-mask sitting on her desk as Weiss stepped into the sleeping cabin.

"Sorry to disturb you, Captain," Velvet said as she stepped through the hatch. "I was looking for White Heron and I thought I might find her here."

"Yes, I'm here, Velvet. Give me a moment." Heron stepped back into the main cabin, mask in place, belting her robe. "What can I do for you?" She knew a good part of the _Crescent Rose_ 's crew by name now, but Velvet was at best a passing acquaintance.

"I, uh, has anyone explained about my wife to you?" Velvet chewed her lip nervously.

Heron shook her head even as Blossom said, "I know you're married, I've seen the leave requests, but I don't know anything about your wife, no."

"She, she's deep-cover Corsair intelligence. Highly placed at Navy HQ right now. She, uh, she had something come up, something so big she told me about it directly, which she's really not supposed to do. And I'm scared," Velvet added, trailing off into a sob.

Heron pulled Velvet over to sit on the couch. "Sounds pretty dangerous, alright. But why come looking for me?"

"Because it's your brother, Whitley, he's the problem," Velvet choked out, and Heron reached up to pull off her mask.

"I see now. You didn't need White Heron, you needed Weiss Schnee." Heron's face set into a scowl. "What has my brother done? If he's done anything to your wife, I'll gut him myself!"

Velvet shook her head jerkily. "No, he hasn't done anything, not really, but he did ask her to do something, and it's going to put her in danger."

"That sounds like something he'd do," Blossom sighed as she sat down on the opposite side of the terrified rabbit girl. "I haven't spent much time around him myself, but I've heard a fair bit."

"Alright, start from the beginning. What did Whitley ask your wife to do?" Weiss's scowl softened a bit, but she couldn't find it in herself to relax. Her brother always set her teeth on edge.

"Whitley asked Coco to be his companion, at least for pretend in public. He says he wants her because he knows she's not a fool and can look after herself."

"That sounds about how he'd put things. My brother doesn't have a romantic bone in his body." Weiss blinked as something Velvet had said sank in. "Coco? As in Coco Adel, Fleet Admiral Lyon Adel's _daughter?"_

Velvet's eyes widened in panic as she realized what she'd let slip. "Y-yes," she said softly, eyes closing as her head drooped to her chest. "She's his aide now, too. The admiral, he's working with your brother, trying to keep the empire from going to hell before Whitley can challenge your father for the throne. Or at least that's what Coco said in her letter."

Weiss nodded. "That's what we've heard from the admiral, too. We can't tell you everything, but I will say that if a fight started tomorrow between my brother and my father, I'm pretty sure the Corsairs would join in on Whitley's side. We might not have any battleships or dreadnoughts, but even a heavy cruiser can raise a lot of hell in the right place at the right time."

"So, so what do I do? Coco says that Whitley is even talking about marrying her, eventually. 'Not a love match, by any means, dear Coco, but a partnership built on respect, if you will,' is how she says your brother put it."

"That's for the three of you to sort out, Velvet," Ruby said as she set her mask down on the coffee table. "I can't advise you there."

"The problem is, Coco and I are legally married, on Duskayne. If Whitley and Coco register an engagement, it'll ping the network, and then everyone will know. It'll come out that she's married to a Corsair, and, and-"

"Velvet. Calm down. Does my brother know about you and Coco being married? Does he know she's Corsair intelligence?"

"No," Velvet answered, hiccuping nervously.

"Then that gives me an idea..."

* * *

Whitley frowned as he set his gravcar down. Coco had asked him to meet her at her father's lake house instead of his mountain cabin this time, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. Was inviting him into her space a sign she was opening up to him, or putting things on her home ground to tell him to piss off? Whitley sighed. Coco was as enigmatic as she was lovely, and that was part of what drew him to her.

He wasn't deluded enough to think he was infatuated with her, of course; no, Whitley's initial choice to approach her had been for purely pragmatic reasons, but it was taking some interesting turns. Last week, for example, he'd taken Coco as his escort to an art showing. Whitley didn't care much for what passed for art these days; his taste was much more classical and simple. Coco had said that one piece of art looked like a cat had eaten far too much rainbow sherbet and vomited so hard it turned itself inside out. When the outraged artist had demanded that Whitley make Coco apologize, he'd replied with, "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but she's not wrong. I do find it a hideous piece." The pair of them had quietly left shortly afterward, finding themselves laughing about the incident and talking about art in general at some nothing little cafe. Towards the end of the evening, Coco had gotten rather still and quiet, as if something was bothering her, but when Whitley asked what was bothering her, she'd forced a smile back on her face, trying to hide that something was bothering her.

Now it was going on two weeks since the two of them had been seen together in public, and the newsfeeds were starting to get downright silly with their headlines. (Whitley's personal favorite claimed that Coco had had only been using him to get to Weiss and that she'd left him when she realized he didn't know where Weiss was.) In hindsight, Whitley should have expected this. His personal life had been nonexistent for the past several years; as much as the newsfeeds were given to hyperbole, being seen twice with the same date was likely to have them screaming he was one step short of matrimony.

Something hit Whitley in the back of his knees, sending him sprawling to the ground. Rolling halfway over, he found himself looking up at a rabbit-eared Faunus woman wearing a Corsair's uniform and carrying a staff. "I don't believe we've met," Whitley said as he started to come to his feet. Trite, he knew, but it was the only thing he could think to say.

Wordlessly, the woman brought the staff down hard, smashing into Whitley's shoulder and almost knocking him back to the ground. Enraged, Whitley tried to grab the staff, only for her to jerk it out of his grasp and smack him on the shoulder for trying. This was pointless. Whitley shifted his feet slightly, then dived low, catching the woman in the legs and knocking her to the ground, the staff spinning away.

He rolled off the woman, running toward the staff and grabbing it, then spinning to face her. "I don't suppose-" Nope. The woman screamed at him and charged, heedless of the weapon. Whitley found himself blocking high, low, trying to remember everything his sister Weiss had beaten into him every time he'd found himself bullied into being her sparring partner growing up.

Weiss... Suddenly things clicked into place, and he drew back from the woman, tossing the staff to the ground. "This is a setup. I'm done fighting for your amusement. And I'm leaving." Whitley turned his back on the woman, marching toward his gravcar with a scowl on his face.

"Now, now, now, let's not be hasty, tiger." Coco's voice broke the silence, and he turned to see her leaning on the patio railing, a smirk on her face.

"I suppose this was your idea? You might not want to let a Corsair see her in that uniform, they get rather sharp about impostors."

"Actually, it was mine. And the uniform's real; I am a Corsair." Coco stepped off the patio and slid an arm around the rabbit-eared woman's waist.

"Remember when I said it was complicated, Whitley? She's the complicated part. This is my wife, Velvet. She's a Corsair, a helmsman on the _Crescent Rose._ " Coco turned and laid a kiss on Velvet's cheek. "My honey-bun was even at the helm when they took Night's Haven Anchorage."

Whitley gave the pair of them a deep court bow. "It pleases me to make your acquaintance, Velvet. And with that, I will take my leave. I know when I've lost."

"Now hold on a minute." Velvet's voice was firm as she pulled away from Coco to grab Whitley's arm. "Coco says you're asking her to stand by you in dangerous times. Well, if you're putting my wife in danger, it seems like I ought to have some say in the matter. So we're going to have a nice, long conversation. And I'll warn you now, if Coco's in whatever you've got going on, so am I. Package deal, understand?"


	19. Cassus Belli

Chief Administrator Gragas tapped her foot impatiently as Lord Astaren's transport made dock. It was taking forever, and a part of her mind wondered exactly _why_ Lord Astaren had used such a large vessel to visit their station, why a passenger transport instead of a yacht. Was the man's ego so immense that he needed that large of an entourage? She sighed. The few communications she'd received from the man had been brief and perfunctory, arrogance dripping from every word. Gragas was filled with a certain dread that she was not going to enjoy the upcoming conversation.

Finally the docking light went green and the hatch hissed open. Gragas drew herself upright, preparing to greet Astaren properly, only to be surprised when the first person through was a battle-armored trooper. More followed, and shortly two full squads were spread out across the docking bay, staring impassively at Gragas and the rest of the administrative council.

Finally, Lord Astaren made his appearance, a man wearing an ornate black military uniform following close behind, more armored troopers escorting the pair. Gods above and gods below, was the man so insecure that he needed this many heavily armed and armored men around him to feel safe. Chief Administrator Gragas drew a deep breath and stepped forward. Time to get this over with. "Lord Astaren, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. Welcome to Tolten station-"

"Is this everyone?" Astaren's voice broke into the greeting she'd prepared, and Gragas blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Is this everyone on you 'Administrative Council?' Are they all here as I ordered?" Astaren snapped, looking the Council over.

"Everyone but one, my lord. Station regulations require one member of the council to be on duty in Operations at all times, to take command in case of emergency." Gragas schooled herself to stay polite and friendly. Did the man's ego know no bounds? Astaren's territory was near the station, and while they were independent, it couldn't hurt to be on good terms with possible trade partners.

"Fine. Kill them," Astaren ordered, and Gragas gaped.

"What?! You can't do this!" she yelled even as the rest of the council pulled back in disbelief.

Astaren raised a hand, and the troopers stopped, their weapons raised. "Oh, but I can. This system and everything in it are now legally my property, and you and your people are squatters. That means I can do whatever I want to remove you. Now I could have just blown this pitiful little station of yours apart, but I didn't want to waste the hardware. So I brought Colonel Helton and his men along for a bit of vermin control."

"Vermin control!" Gragas abandoned all pretense of diplomacy. "You bastard! There are children on this station, thousands of people. People have lived their whole lives here, built homes and families. You can't just kill everyone."

"Nits make lice, Administrator. Colonel, your men may begin. Kill everyone, but try not to make too much of a mess of the station. It's rather pathetic, but waste not, want not, after all."

One of the troopers swung their weapon at her, and Gragas had just a moment to condemn Astaren to several hells before he fired. She fell to the deck, and even as the world grew dark, she managed to spare a thought for Administrator Kylen. Kylen was the most junior member of the council, and the first person born on the station to be elevated to the council. _May the Lord and Lady bless you and guide you, Kylen, you're Chief Administrator now._

* * *

Kylen looked up from the table in their improvised command center at the sound of weapons fire. Seltos shook his head. "They're not that close, and there's no way they know we're here. Probably shooting up another bunch of hothead miners with improvised weapons."

Kylen nodded and turned back to the tactical map on the flatscreen they'd laid on the table, his heart heavy with dread. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't keep everyone out of the mercenaries' way. There were just too many of the butchers, and they were too determined, too heavily armed. His people sealed pressure doors, wrecking the locks and welding the doors shut, but the troopers just destroyed the doors with explosives, slaughtering as they went. Hundreds of people had already died, and the few security people they had were woefully outclassed, equipped to handle drunken miners and the occasional small riot. They'd thought the station's defense platforms were enough to hold off any serious threat, but the mercenaries had slipped right past those by coming in on an unarmed civilian transport.

Civilian transport... "I have an idea. Remember the idea Alton had, about gassing the bastards?"

"Yeah, with ratex gas, we can make it out of things we have. But that armor they wear has got to have environmental protection, and two, we can't use the stuff without killing a lot of our own people."

"But there is one place we know there's a lot of them and none of us." Kylen brought up the docking bay the mercenary transport was docked at. "We decompress the bay, bottling a bunch of them inside, maybe even blow the docking port. It won't take long for them to get it fixed, but we don't need long. At the same time, we sneak a team on their transport. It's a civilian ship, so it won't have the sort of security or protection a military transport would have. Introduce the ratex to their environmental system and by the time they realize it's there, they'll be dying. Ratex kills slow, remember? That's what makes ratex poisoning so nasty."

Seltos shivered; he'd seen a mass case of ratex poisoning once, men coughing up blood, knowing they were already dead. "Are you sure about this? Someone's likely to call this a war crime."

Kylen shook his head. "I don't think we have a choice. We sent out a distress call, but it's going to take time for help to arrive. If we can take out a good chunk of the bastards, that'll mean fewer of them murdering us. I'll accept full responsibility."

* * *

Lord Astaren sighed as he sipped his wine. Colonel Helton had assured him that eliminating these squatters would be a quick and clean operation. Now it had been over a week, and still the vermin held out. How could 'professionals' like Helton's men be doing so badly against civilians? The mercenary commander kept making excuses, talking about 'desperation' and 'trapped rats' but Astaren wasn't buying it. When this was over, he and the colonel were going to have a very painful discussion about the terms of their contract. Astaren sighed and tapped his scroll, notifying Colonel Helton that he wanted to see him as soon as possible.

Helton arrived not quite as quickly as Astaren would have liked, snapping to that 'attention' posture myrmidons like him were so fond of as a show of respect. "My apologies for taking so long, my lord. I was in the middle of getting a status update from my engineers on restoring access from the ship to the station."

"I see. And what is the latest word?"

"It's still going to be some time, my lord. Apparently, the damage they did to the docking port is rather extreme; my engineers sounded impressed with their thoroughness. On top of that, they froze the docking clamps, so not only can we not use the dock we're in, we can't just go around to another dock." Helton coughed as he shook his head. "Not that I'd want to, of course; this dock is more secure than anywhere else on this station, and I don't want to divert the resources to secure another docking bay."

"If it takes too long to restore this bay, you may have to do just that. I'm no military man, but it strikes me that having most of your troops bottled up like this puts you at an extreme disadvantage." Astaren leaned back in his chair, regarding Helton as one might an errant child. "Frankly I'm less than pleased with your handling of this whole affair, Colonel. You assure me that removing these squatters would be a simple matter."

"Relatively simple, my lord, relatively simple. It doesn't help matters that the miners are more heavily armed than you lead us to believe and-" Helton was interrupted by more coughing, but this time he stopped, staring at his hand afterward.

"Something fascinating about your hand, Colonel? You've only had it your entire life. Or do you want to go back to making excuses for your failure."

"I'm coughing up blood, I should report to medical." Astaren dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Less than twenty minutes later, Helton stood in front of him, a red-flecked mask over his face. "We're all dead, you fool."

Astaren rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon-!"

"I said, we're all dead. You, me, everyone else aboard. The reason I was coughing up blood is that someone has contaminated the environmental systems with ratex gas. It takes time for ratex exposure to show its symptoms; by the time you're coughing, you're already a dead man. And no, I'm not wearing this mask to avoid exposure, I'm wearing it so I don't cough blood everywhere. I've passed the word to my men and the crew; they're taking the time to make arrangements and say what goodbyes they can."

Astaren paled. "There's no hope? We're all dead?" Helton nodded, his face set in stone behind the mask. "You'll forgive me Colonel-" Astaren was interrupted by a coughing fit of his own. He looked at his hand, wiping the blood off it with a handkerchief. "Well, that makes this a bit more real for me, doesn't it? Thank you for letting me know, Colonel. Please, go take care of your men; I need to make arrangements of my own." He reached for the terminal on his desk, only to stop as Helton drew his pistol and aimed it at Astaren, his hand shaking.

"I don't think so, 'my lord.'" Helton said with a snarl. "I started with nothing, a raw recruit learning the trade, and it took me decades to build what you've wasted in days. Now I'm going to tape you to that chair, with tape over your mouth. I'll leave the intercom on, so you can hear what's going on outside. Hear my men coughing up blood, begging for mercy from the poison eating away at their lungs. I hope you're the last to die, sitting here all alone."

* * *

"This is an outrage! It cannot be tolerated!"

"On that, we quite agree." Whitley stood, facing the Imperial Assembly. "For people whose only crime was to try and earn an honest living for themselves to be slaughtered like this is intolerable."

"That's not what I meant! He was only claiming his property and-!"

"Actually, he may have acted in error there or at least hastily." Whitley held out a hand, keeping his eyes on the man he was facing off with, and an aide placed a datapad in his hand. Paging through the pad, he found the section he was looking for. "I have consulted with a magistrate, and, in his opinion, Astaren was within his rights to remove them by force, but there were several steps he should have taken first. First-"

"See, you admit he was within his rights!"

Whitley's eyes were cold as the dark between the stars. "No, my lord. I say that he was within his rights to do so _as a last resort._ Slaughtering the innocent and the helpless should never be our first recourse. First, he should have contacted them and informed them that the system was now his property. As a chartered, independent colony, they have certain rights, rights that, in his haste, Lord Astaren ignored, if he bothered to become aware of them. They could have negotiated for mining rights, perhaps some sort of shared profit arrangement. If nothing else, they should have been permitted to leave peacefully, and the station purchased by Lord Astaren. Violence of the level employed by Lord Astaren should only have been employed after negotiations had either irreparably broken down or been denied totally, and certainly should not have involved the murder of children."

"You can't prove-"

He'd had enough. Whitley tapped the datapad in his hands, and the projector in the center of the Assembly chamber began to play a video. There was no sound, but it didn't need any. Two armored mercenaries stepped into a schoolroom, the teacher yelling at them, putting herself between the soldiers and the small children in her charge. The result was as inevitable as it was horrifying.

"Now," Whitley spoke softly, his words carrying in the stunned silence, "I would like to propose a solution. I'm offering to buy the rights to the Tolten system from Lord Astaren's heirs. I think it's about time I had some real, revenue-generating property of my own, don't you, ladies and gentlemen? I will negotiate with the miners for them to work the system, in exchange for a share of their profits." Which would be as little as Whitley could get away with; these people had already suffered enough.

"And the murder of Lord Astaren?" This came from one of the Emperor's closes political allies; Whitley wouldn't be surprised if his father had prompted the man with the question.

The prince shook his head. "I don't think they deliberately sought his death with the gas attack. They were most likely trying to kill the mercenaries, and Lord Astaren was simply another casualty."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Whitley." The Emperor spoke now. "They've murdered an imperial noble while he was asserting his legal rights. Whether or not he did so improperly, that fact remains. I'm ordering in the imperial marines sent in to restore order, and arrest those responsible for this insurrection and the murder of Lord Astaren."

"Father, you can't-!"

"I don't have any choice!" The emperor rose from his seat, scowling down at his son. "If we let an outrage like this go unpunished once, it will happen again! The rule of law must be enforced, and sometimes that means doing things we would rather not do."

Whitley's face was a study in cold fury. "The _outrage_ as you put it was allowing this to happen to those people in the first place! They paid for the right to be there, legally, and even after Lord Astarn bought the rights to the system, it didn't give him the right to massacre them!"

"My decision is final."

Afterward, Coco sought him out, pulling Whitley into a mock embrace in a quiet corner where they could speak privately. "That was risky, Whitley. You could have lost everything right there."

"A calculated risk. I have to establish myself as the reasonable one, the peacemaker."

"I know. But we both know what's at stake here. Not to mention she likes your attitude too," Coco added with a smirk.

"Indeed. How's she settling in at the new house?" After meeting Velvet and having Coco's 'complications' explained to him, Whitley had taken a decidedly simple approach to things. He'd acquired a small manor house just half an hour's gravcar flight from the capital and installed himself and Coco there (and, discretely, Velvet). People had been quietly scandalized, of course, but he'd simply stared down anyone who dared comment too loudly.

"She's doing okay. We're spending more time together than we have in a long time and, well, we're having to adjust."

"I don't want to interfere, but if there's anything I can do to help...?" Coco shook her head. "Very well. And I think you've got an errand to run, given what just happened." Coco nodded and turned to go. Before she left the Assembly chamber, she looked back and saw Whitley deep in conversation with two men she knew to be allies of her father's.

It occurred to Coco that Whitley might not be a great man, he was probably a better man than the emperor, and possibly as good a man as her own father. She realized that what she felt for him was not what she would have called affection, but respect. He hadn't made the situation they were all in, but he was doing what he could to try and make things better.

* * *

The assault transport _Bercyon IV_ dropped out of hyperspace near Tolten station. _Bercyon_ 's captain sighed. This assignment was bullshit, and he knew it. Some lord had paid off a magistrate and gotten himself killed for it. But the emperor had commanded marines be sent in to 'restore order,' and so here they were. "Hail the station," he said softly, and he saw his XO wince. He knew she didn't like this any more than he did, but orders were orders.

His screen lit up, and a young woman stood there. "Captain, I'm Administrator Urlon. We're prepared to turn over Administrator Kylen and the others responsible for the ratex gas attack, as well as the remaining mercenaries. There's no need for you to land troops; public order has already been restored."

Captain Malcen shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Administrator Urlon. My orders are to land our marines, impose martial law, and conduct our own investigation. The empire will determine who is guilty and who is innocent. Those mercenaries in your custody will, of course, be turned over to us."

Urlon frowned. "We cannot permit you to land those marines. No offense, Captain, but the last time someone imposed armed troops on us, things got very ugly. We've taken measures to keep that from happening again."

"What sort of measures are you talking about, Administrator?"

Malcen's screen split, and suddenly he was looking at an _outcast_ sitting on a ship's bridge. "Captain Twinkling Amber speaking, of the Corsair cruiser _Who Mourns for Adonais._ We are on contract to provide security for Tolten station, and I will warn you that it's within my discretion to regard any attempt to launch shuttles toward the station and respond accordingly."

"You hired a _warship_ to keep from being invaded?" Malcen couldn't believe this. He'd requested an escort for this mission, but been flatly refused. Now he wished he'd argued harder.

"Well, yes." Administrator Urlon shrugged. "Can you blame us?"

"Sir," Malcen'x XO whispered in his ear. " _Who Mourns for Adonais_ is coming around from behind the station now; she's flagged as a Corsair light cruiser."

Behind Malcen, someone cleared their throat. He turned to face Colonel Dorrick, commander of the Imperial Marines aboard _Bercyon IV_ , and, as he was probably about to remind Malcen, overall commander of the mission to 'restore order' on Tolten station. "A light cruiser? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't this a _heavy_ assault transport, Captain? We should be more than a match for them, shouldn't we? Order them to retreat, and if they refuse, fire on them. Corsairs won't dare stand and fight against the Imperial Navy."

Malcen shook his head. "That's a bad idea, Colonel. That ship-"

"-is in violation of Imperial law. Not even Corsairs are above the law; we have authority here." Dorrick's face grew grim. "Captain Malcen, we have our orders. Either you will obey them or I will have you relieved."

Malcen stood, coming to parade rest. "Sir, I respectfully refuse to carry out that order as you have instructed."

"You are hereby relieved. Go to your cabin; I'll deal with you later. Commander Garnett, you are in command of the ship now. Carry out our orders."

Garnett nodded and stepped forward. "Try not to let him get us all killed," Malcen whispered just barely loud enough for her to hear.

She sat in the command chair, trying not to wipe the sweat damping her hands on her uniform. She'd fought alongside Corsairs before; unlike Colonel Dorrick, she had a healthy respect for them. "Lock weapons on the Corsair vessel," Garnett ordered before opening the channel. "Captain Twinkling Amber, this is your only warning. Stand down and allow us to land our troops or we will fire on your vessel."

"What happened to the other one, did he have to visit the head? Doesn't matter anyway, I don't take orders from you. Administrator Urlon, it's your call, but if they shoot at me, I'm shooting back, fair warning." Amber sat back in his chair, face unreadable under his _outcast_ 's mask.

"This is ridiculous," Dorrick hissed. "Blow them out of space and be done with it."

"Sir," Garnett whispered, "I'm trying to win this one without firing a shot. If the Corsairs back down, we win. If they shoot first, we win. Either way, they lose."

Administrator Urlon shook her head. "Out here on the edge of the Empire, we're used to looking after ourselves. And I will not permit you to land your marines, Commander. Why don't you and the Marine commander come over to the station in a shuttle and we can talk about this?"

Garnett didn't even have to glance at Colonel Dorrick to know what he thought about that. "I'm afraid I must insist on landing the marines I have onboard." She muted the channel, then glanced at the tactical officer. "Fire a warning shot at the station. Disarm the warhead; we don't want to hurt anyone, just let them know we're serious." The tactical officer nodded and the single missile streaked from _Bercyon IV_ toward the station.

The Corsair response was swift and forceful. Countermissile fire swatted the harmless warhead from space before it had traveled halfway to the station, then a salvo erupted from _Adonais_ toward _Bercyon IV._ "Evasive maneuvers, all weapons to defensive fire," Garnett snapped, buckling herself into the command chair even as alarms began to wail.

"I don't understand, what's the problem?" Dorrick asked, glancing around in confusion.

"The problem is, that salvo's about _five_ times what we can put out, and we're a hell of a lot more fragile, jackass! To put things in terms you _might_ understand, we're an armored personnel carrier and we just picked a fight with a tank! And not an ambush, either!" _Bercyon_ shook as the salvo blew through her defenses and slammed into her hull. Damage reports began to come in, and Garnett glanced at the display. Damn.

" _Bercyon IV,_ I'm going to give you a chance to surrender. I know we just hit you hard; nobody else needs to die today. I'll even send over some of my medics for your wounded. Otherwise, we'll have no choice but to destroy you."

"Master at Arms, escort Colonel Dorrick to his quarters, and make sure he stays there. He is confined to quarters by my order." Garnett opened the channel. "Captain Amber, I will need a moment to confer with my captain. You have my word, we're not going anywhere for a while." _Especially since we're bleeding air from both launch bays._

"You can't do this!" Dorrick snapped, shoving the Master at Arms away.

"I can and I am. Aboard this ship, you may give orders, but my word is law, even unto your marines. Marines, I will add, who I'm trying not to get slaughtered for nothing. You probably could get me court-martialed for this, but I'm going to make sure everyone knows _you_ were the one who pushed this into a shooting match." Garnett's eyes met Dorrick's, and he was one that flinched. "Now get off my bridge. I've got a mess to explain to my captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop quiz: How many of you noticed that this chapter had a title, and not just a number?


	20. Rubicon

"Well, this should be a circus."

Coco was the only person close enough to hear the _sotto voce_ comment from Whitley, and turned her head toward him, pulling her sunglasses down for just a moment so he could see her raised eyebrow. Whitley shrugged. "No matter what your father says, my father will use it as an excuse to declare war on the Corsairs. And the truth of what happened will be buried under as many lies as he can muster. If your father cooperates, he may be allowed to resign. If not..." Whitley sighed and pulled Coco in close for an embrace. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear, "I'll do my best to get your father to safety before an 'accident is arranged for him. I think it would be best to do the same for you and Velvet."

"But where's safe?" Velvet whispered back, trying to keep the fear she felt out of her voice. "The empire's about to tear itself apart, and I don't want to leave you by yourself."

"Not here. We'll discuss it tonight, at home." Whitley pulled away, straightening his tunic.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Imperial Assembly, I must first report that Fleet Admiral Adel has tendered his resignation, and accepted full responsibility for this disaster. On top of that-"

Whitley couldn't have asked for a better opening. "This 'disaster' was of your making!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Silence fell across the assembly chamber, devoid of even the normal murmur that went on during any speech. Long-standing tradition dictated that a sitting emperor was _never_ interrupted when speaking. Emperor Jacques frowned at Whitley. "Prince Whitley, please wait your turn to speak."

"No." Whitley's flat refusal carried clearly across the silence."I had a solution in hand that would have resolved this without further violence. _You_ are the one who demanded that the Marines be sent in. I was present when you ordered Admiral Adel to put Colonel Dorrick in charge of the overall mission, against Admiral Adel's advice. And it was Colonel Dorrick who ordered Commander Garnett to fire on Tolten Station; I have the bridge logs from the _Bercyon IV_ to prove it. Yes, the warhead was unarmed, but Captain Twinkling Amber had no way to know that. Indeed, in my opinion, the action he took was completely justified. He saw a warhead headed toward an, at best, lightly-defended civilian station that he was contracted to defend, we've even got the contract in hand to prove it. In response, he fired a single salvo. One salvo, ladies and gentlemen," and now Whitley turned away from his father to let his gaze wander over the Assembly chamber. "In the time it took that single salvo to reach _Bercyon IV, Who Mourns for Adonais_ could have fired _four_ such salvos, assuming her launchers haven't been upgraded. Four. I have it on good authority that a second salvo would have crippled _Bercyon IV,_ a third would have destroyed her, and there would have been few, if any, survivors."

"That they fired at all is inexcusable!" shouted a voice from the gallery. Whitley made note of who the speaker was before responding. "You're right; Commander Garnett should have refused to fire the warning shot at all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the purpose of our Imperial Navy and Marine Corps are simple; it is to protect the people of the Empire, commoners and nobility alike. At Tolten Station, we failed to guide them in that mission. We had a simple matter, that should have been handled in a court of law, before a magistrate, and wasn't. It was handled with violence, and when that backfired, we answered with more violence.

"No more. If we continue on this path, there will only be more violence. The Corsairs acted within the bounds of the law and their own honor, and we have to respect that."

"You want us to let them get away with firing on an Imperial Navy transport?" another voice shouted, and Whitley once again noted the speaker.

"Not quite. They have offered restitution, as allowed law. Also, we have to remember that the Corsairs are an association of captain-owners, bound together by mutual agreement and tradition. Technically, even their 'fleet admiral' is just one more captain, albeit of something somewhat larger than a common cruiser." This drew a murmur of laughter. "If we feel the need for further vengeance, we should start with Captain Twinkling Amber, and not visit it upon the Corsairs as a whole."

"That is not acceptable."

The emperor stood, glaring openly at Whitley. "No matter how romantic an image the people of the empire have of the Corsairs, the truth is they're little better than any other band of pirates. The kidnapping of my own daughter proves that. For far too long, we've let these vipers flourish, and now we've seen their true colors.

"I am hereby ordering the Imperial Navy to see to the destruction of the Corsairs. Within a month, I want no ships flying the Corsair flag within the Empire."

"Father, you can't-"

"I can and I have. Prince Whitley, you forget your place. Given how disruptive you have been today, I will ask you to leave. We will discuss your return in private."

Whitley scowled as he turned and stomped away, a fresh murmur coming from the crowd behind him. While the emperor, and only the emperor, could legally remove the heir from the Assembly chamber, it was a right that had very seldom been invoked.

And every time, the consequences for the Empire had been dire.

* * *

Coco sighed as she saw Whitley collapsed on one of the couches in their suite, a forgotten drink held loosely in his hand. "I tried, Coco, I really did. But he is determined to have his war, isn't he?"

She sat next to him, taking his drink away and setting it on the table. "I know, Whitley. I've been going back over the Assembly proceedings, and you've been trying to put the brakes on your father for a while, haven't you?"

"With mixed success. But I think I've made some allies against the more moderate members of the nobility. Enough to challenge him successfully? That I don't know. I may have to reveal some of the secrets I've been collecting."

"And my father?"

"Already off to what I hope is safety, at least for now. Disappearing someone who was being watched as closely as him was rather difficult. Thankfully your father has always been a rather spiritual man, despite his vocation. The priests were quite willing to look the other way for a significant donation."

"Then I think you've earned this," Coco said with a smile and leaned forward to give Whitley a peck on the cheek. Whitley returned her smile and shook his head. "It's the least I can do; these past few months, he's put himself in great danger to help me reach out to more people that might be willing to back me, especially among the Navy. And after what my father did today, well..."

The soft sound of a door closing startled them, and they both jumped up to see Velvet standing there, regarding them both with a bemused expression. "Sorry, I just got back, and I didn't want to interrupt."

"It's quite alright. Did you get the message off?" Whitley asked, shaking himself to regain his composure as he picked up his drink again.

Velvet nodded as she poured her own drink and one for Coco, sitting down on the other side of Whitley than Coco. "And two more were waiting for us. Fleet Admiral Barut sends, 'We stand ready.' And White Heron sends this: 'What does he want me to do? Oh, and give him a hug for me.'"

He chuckled as he returned the rabbit Faunus's hug, Coco shaking her head at the two of them. When they'd first met, Velvet had been rather standoffish toward Whitley, but they'd gotten more comfortable with each other. "Weiss always hated being touched, growing up. I'm glad to see that some of Ruby has rubbed off on her. I'll have to write her a message in the mor-"

The lights went out, to be replaced by the emergency lights a second later. "Anyone think this is a coincidence?" Coco asked as she fished her scroll out of a pocket. "Comm network's down."

Velvet frowned as she stood. "My implant can't get through either, and it's military-grade. And no, not a coincidence."

"My scroll's military-grade too, you know."

"Ladies, please." Whitley stood and walked over to an unremarkable section of the wall, opening it to reveal an arms cache. "I do believe we're about to have some unexpected guests, so let's make sure we're ready to receive them, hmm?" He pulled out two armored vests, tossing one to each of them.

"It's not really my color," Coco said as she shrugged into the vest, "but one must dress for the occasion."

* * *

Thyla Warrow had suffered from bouts of insomnia her entire life, and tonight was one of those nights. So she found herself wandering the ground floor of Whitley's home, tidying up little things that had been missed during the day. Not big things, really, mostly just something here or there that hadn't been dusted or was just out of place. Things like that nagged at her. She was just straightening a picture in the first-floor sitting room when she saw the dark figures scurrying across the lawn.

When Whitley set out to establish his private residence' (which everyone in the capital read as 'love nest') he'd been very particular about the company he used for his security arrangements as well as the employment service he used for the staff. Outwardly, they were two separate companies. In reality, the employment service was a division of the security company, hidden under layers of shell companies and cut-outs.

The end result of this was that if you were willing to pay the price, you could have a household staff that not only were excellent at taking care of things for you, they were an extraordinarily dedicated and skilled security team.

And Whitley had been willing to pay for their absolute best.

So it was that Thyla Warrow (at one time Gunnery Sergeant Warrow, Imperial Marine Corps) gave no visible reaction when she saw the intruders. She just turned out the lights in the sitting room and stepped out into the hallway, stopping to trigger the silent alarm on a hidden panel before helping herself to a rifle and armored vest from another one of Whitley's weapons caches. Swearing under her breath at her bad knees, Thyla took up a firing position along what she guessed to be the intruders' best route to the master suite.

She harbored no illusions that she'd be able to stop the intruders, not one somewhat-past-her-prime gunnery sergeant and a rifle, oh no. But this way, she'd be able to face her ancestors with pride, and maybe buy the prince more time to escape.

Bingo. The intruders crept down the hallway nice and quiet, watching all their angles, avoiding the cameras, even most of the hidden ones. She let four of them get in the room before she took the one in the rear, the deadly _thwp-thwp-thwp_ of the flechette rifle echoing in the silence as he dropped.

Immediately the intruders spun around, trying to figure out where the fire had come from. Thyla had to give them credit, these guys were stone-cold professionals. They didn't waste any time checking on their buddy, they went looking for whoever took him out. She let one of them sweep his rifle past her position before taking him out with another flechette burst.

Teach her for getting cute. The the other two of this team zeroed in on her position, spraying the couch she was hiding behind with pulse fire. She _tsk_ ed as she hit the floor, spraying fire blindly under the couch and catching one of them in the ankle, swearing as he hit the floor.

"Excuse me," she laughed as she checked her ammo level and decided it wasn't quite time to reload, "I'm sorry but you'll have to come back tomorrow; Prince Whitley has retired for the evening."

She barely had time to see the grenade arcing over her position before it exploded.

* * *

"Goddammit," Whitley swore as the video feed from the first floor died. "They've cut the secondary power grid. That means the lift shafts are out. We'll have to take the alternative way out."

"Take it as a compliment; you managed to piss off your dad enough he sent the very best," Velvet laughed softly as she killed the lights before carefully opening the master suite door, peering out carefully to check for movement.

"And there's no way we would have taken the lift shaft anyway; that's asking for them to take us out," Coco whispered, opening another wall panel to reveal a ladder descending into darkness. "You two first, I'll bring up the rear."

"No." Velvet's voice was firm as she took up position to cover the entrance to the suite. "You first, you're more important than I am."

"But-"

"Shut up and listen. When we get out of here, the press is more likely to listen to a human than a Faunus any day of the week. It's shitty but it's true. Plus you're Whitley's official girlfriend, right? Adds extra weight to your words." Bitterness crept into Velvet's words as she continued. "Whereas me, I'm just some rabbit-eared bit of fluff he keeps around for laughs."

"No, you're not, and you never have been." Now it was Whitley's turn to be firm, commanding. "When I found out Coco was married to you, I was willing to walk away from her, remember? Coco was by far the best option for a partner in what I saw coming, and the most desirable, but there were other options. When you said the two of you were a package deal, I accepted that. We all leave here tonight or none of us do, that's how this works. If it makes you feel any better, I'll let you trigger the Last Laugh."

Velvet started to rise and turn to face Whitley, but before she could answer him, the door blew in, pulse rifle fire spraying blindly into the suite's sitting room. She swore as she dropped back down, blindly firing a grenade from the launcher built into her rifle through the wreckage of the door.

"Help me, he's been hit!" Coco yelled, dragging Whitley into cover.

"No, I'll hold them off, give you time to get away!"

"Velvet, if you're not right behind us-"

"Ungh," Whitley groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows. "Well, this is my first time ever being shot, or shot at, for that matter. I don't recommend either one."

"Come on, let's get you down the ladder," Coco said, helping him to his feet.

"You first." Coco started to protest, but Whitley shook his head. "If my grip slips, I may need you to catch me, after all. And Velvet, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Velvet asked under her breath as she sprayed rifle fire at the entrance to the suite. She'd ask him later if she remembered.

When Velvet reached the bottom of the ladder, she found Whitley passed out by to the ground-car that had been left there for their escape, the med-kit open next to him as Coco treated his wound. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. He's got internal bleeding and gut wounds are always nasty. Hopefully, we can get him to a doctor or automedic before sepsis sets in."

Velvet bit her lip as she watched Coco bandaging Whitley, seeing the concern on her wife's face. "You like him, don't you?"

"What? No."

The rabbit-eared woman shook her head. "Coco, you've never been able to lie to me worth a damn and you know it, so don't even try now."

Coco sighed. "Alright, it's not so much that I like him or anything, it's just… it's more like I respect him, for what he's done, what he's tried to do. He could have just waited to take the throne and then started cleaning up his father's mess. Instead, he started now, fighting his father and gathering the evidence to take him down. I'm sorry, Velv, I really am."

"I'm not mad. I kinda like him too. He's always been nice to you, and to me, nicer than I ever expected a Schnee to be, at least before I met Weiss." A muffled thump and a shower of dirt came from the ladder above and Velvet could see a severed arm lying in the pile of dirt. "Looks like they just hit the first booby-trap on the ladder. I'll drive while you nurse Prince Not-So-Charming there."

Velvet checked the time as they pulled out of the tunnel. Should be right about … _now._ A fireball blossomed in the night, wilted and was gone, leaving the crackling of a forest fire. Not a nuclear weapon, but a fuel-air bomb. Just as devastating and easier to tailor to the level of destruction you want.

"A pity," Whitley muttered. "It was such a lovely house."

"You rest," Coco said softly, brushing a stray hair out of his face.

"Yes, I have to be conscious before we leave the system, don't I?" His eyes started to flutter shut, but before he slipped into unconsciousness, Whitley said, "Coco?"

"One more word out of you, and I'm hitting you with a stunner."

"I hold both you and Velvet in high regard. I wanted you to know that, just in case."

"In case of nothing, Whitley. Sleep."

* * *

Velvet collapsed against the wall as the roll-up door clanged shut. The drive to the hangar where Whitley had stashed their escape ship had been nerve-wracking. With his 'assassination' all over the news, the police in and around the capital had been on high alert. Luckily some quickly-applied hair dye and a story about a friend who was 'passed-out drunk' had been enough to get them past the checkpoints they hadn't been able to avoid.

Coco was onboard already, looking for the battered freighter's medical bay. Whitley had said it was well-stocked, but right now she'd be satisfied with a decent trauma kit. "Anything, Coco?" Velvet yelled up the ramp.

"There's a damn Navy-grade automedic in here. Come have a look!" From the outside, the ship looked like a run-down tramp freighter nobody would look at twice. Inside, it was still a run-down tram freighter nobody would look at twice, but one that had been well-refurbished. The 'medical bay' was a fully-automated surgical suite, with a dedicated limited intelligence attached. Not much of a conversationalist, but it pronounced Whitley 'stable and ready to regain consciousness, as long as he remains in bed and receives prompt regular attention' within a day.

Coco and Velvet couldn't wait to leave. The newsfeeds had been running nonstop speculation about the events at Whitley's home, and every noise or light outside the hangar had set their hearts racing. But Whitley had been very firm on this point. If they made it to the hangar, he wanted them to wait until he either regained consciousness or he was dead. If he died, they were to freeze the body and run to the Corsairs. If he lived…

Whitley sat, propped up in a bunk. "Is everything—" Whitley stopped, grimacing in pain, then cleared his throat before continuing— "is everything ready?" he asked, his voice much more firm.

Velvet nodded. "Drive's hot and ready, and comm-code you gave us says it's ready. Are you sure about this? We could take a short hop, let them chase their tails for a bit."

He shook his head. "The sooner the better, unfortunately. If I stay 'dead' too long it weakens my position, makes me less credible. It has to be done now, before I leave the system." She nodded and started the camera. "People of the Empire…." he began.

* * *

" _People of the Empire, by now you have no doubt heard of the tragic events at my home outside the Imperial capital. And by now, you have either chosen to believe the official version of events, some alternate version of events you found somewhere on the network, or come up with some other theory of your own invention._

" _No matter what you believe, the truth is far, far worse._

" _It's no secret anymore that my father, the Emperor, and I have disagreed greatly over the past few years. Last night a team of assassins, sent by my father, broke into my home and tried to kill me. They obviously failed. I was fortunate enough to escape but was gravely injured in the process._

" _My father is no longer fit for the throne. He and those close to him have committed crimes that, if committed by 'lesser' men, would result in their executions. Instead, their power and position lead them to believe themselves above the law. But here in the Empire, no-one is above the law, not even the Emperor himself._

" _But I am not going to ask you to take my word alone for this. Attached to this message you will find a portion of the evidence I have managed to gather. I can only it will be enough to convince you that I am telling the truth._

" _It is my intent to challenge my father for the throne, preferably legally but if that fails, then by force of arms. This is not a step I take gladly, or without a grim sense of the consequences for the Empire, but at this point, I feel I have no choice._

" _For the common citizens of the Empire, I ask only that you do your best to stay out of the hurricane that I fear is about to sweep over the Empire. You are the lifeblood and the strength of the Empire, and I would see as many of you live through this as possible._

" _Yours in service, Prince Whitley Schnee."_

The video ended, and Weiss collapsed against Ruby, tears tracing a path down her alabaster skin. "He's alive," she whispered, her voice still heavy with the anguish she'd felt when she first heard the news about the events at Whitley's home.

"Yeah, but he's fixing to take on the whole goddamn empire!" Yang said with a snort. Blake short her wife a glare, and Yang shrugged. "Well, he is."

"So what are you going to do?" Ruby asked Weiss, running her fingers through Weiss's hair to calm her.

Weiss shook her head gently, not wanting to break contact with Ruby. "I'm not Princess Weiss anymore, remember? I'm White Heron, a Corsair fighter pilot. I go where the ship goes."

"Dolt," Ruby laughed, bopping Weiss on the head gently. "As much as we pretend otherwise, everyone knows exactly who you are, and nobody's going to pretend you don't have a stake in this."

"'A stake in this?' I only want one thing out of this. I want you the four of us as safe as I can manage."

"Then what do you want to do? How do you achieve that?"

"I…" Weiss trailed off, not sure what to say. "I guess the first step would be to ask the Captain's Council what their intent is. But I have to support my brother. There's no safe anywhere for us while my father's still emperor.

* * *

It took every iota of discipline Commander Garnett had not to fidget as the Corsair shuttle entered _Bercyon IV_ 's landing bay. Her crew and the Marines onboard weren't exactly prisoners, but they'd been asked not to leave 'until the situation is resolved.' She snorted. Why not call them prisoners and be honest about it?

And then that nonsense about the Prince being assassinated, and him not being dead after all but blaming the Emperor for trying to have him killed? Garnett sighed. She wasn't sure what to believe, or what she should do, but maybe now she'd at least know where she stood with the Corsairs. Two hours ago the garishly-painted cruiser had dropped out of hyperspace and requested permission to come aboard and address the ship's company. Garnett had decided that discretion was the better part of valor and agreed. But why had they requested that a medic be present?

The shuttle's ramp hissed down, and out tromped a double line of Corsair marines in full power armor, taking position as an honor guard. _Well, this is either really good or really bad._ Corsairs didn't stand on ceremony much, so whoever this was had to be really important.

Then another figure appeared at the top of the ramp, and Garnett's jaw dropped. There stood Princess Weiss Schnee, in full imperial court robes, complete with the rather odd accessory of a Corsair's blade at her waist. A step behind her was a woman in a red Corsair dress uniform with the badge of a ship's captain. Bringing up the rear was a blonde woman in full court robes, this one wearing an _outcast_ 's mask and arm-in-arm with a black-haired Faunus woman.

Princess Weiss stopped in front of Garnett and bowed. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Captain. I do apologize for everything, but these are interesting times, I think you will agree. At this point, I'd like to ask you for two favors, and then I and my escort will depart, and you and your ship will be free to go wherever you wish.

"The first favor is that I'd like your medic to take a blood sample, and whatever other samples he deems necessary to verify my identity. The second thing I'd like to do is to address your ship's company and transmit that to an address I will give you."

Garnett agreed, and the medic took his samples, then Garnett gestured for the princess to take her place. Weiss's head turned to take in the assembled crew and marines, then she began to speak.

"We live in dangerous times. My brother, Prince Whitley, has openly challenged my father for the throne, accusing him of a great number of terrible crimes. Here and now I will not speak of the crimes my father stands accused of, I will only speak of his crimes against me.

"While I was at combat school, I fell in love and asked the woman I loved to marry me. She accepted. After I told my father the news, he told me to return home to Atlas and we'd discuss it, even going so far as to send his own yacht to carry me. I never arrived there.

"Instead, I found myself in exile, sent against my will to a monastery where I was told I would be beaten if I spoke or sang, or even cried out I pain. The monks enforced my father's decree, on pain of their ancient and hallowed monastery being destroyed. I endured there for five years before lying to make my escape.

"But worse is what happened to my love. Her father was falsely convicted of treason, her family stripped of their fortune, lands, and title, and all of them condemned to death. My love and her sister escaped, declared themselves _outcast_ and took up the path of the Corsair.

"So, after escaping the monastery, I found myself compelled to escape once more, and flee to my love. I became an _outcast_ and a Corsair, just like my love. And that is where I have been since my 'kidnapping.'

"The evidence to clear Taiyang Xiao Long of the crimes he was condemned for is among what my brother sent when he challenged my father. Look it over yourselves and decide. For my part, I am convinced, and throw my support behind my brother."

Now the blonde woman stepped forward, the red-uniformed captain at her heels. They removed their _outcast_ masks together, and the blonde woman spoke. "I am Yang Xiao Long, heir of the House of Xiao Long, Everything Princess Weiss said is true. For the crime of answering 'Yes' when the woman she loved proposed to her, my sister saw her family ruined and sentenced to death.

"I speak now for the Corsairs, and relay the words of Fleet Admiral Barut: Emperor Jacques, the Corsairs have known for a long time what sort of monster you are. Stand down, and spare the Empire the pain. But if you want a fight, the Corsairs will give you one. Come and face us, if you dare."

With that, the Corsairs marched neatly back aboard the shuttle. After they'd left, comm tech scurried up to Commander Garnett. "Ma'am? That code they gave us? It's an Empire-wide emergency broadcast code. The whole Empire saw that."

Garnett spat a curse under her breath. "Then you'd better hurry and get that cruiser on the line before they go. Ask them if they're hiring, or at least if they know where a good bar is."


End file.
